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THE  DIOTHAS 


A    FAE    LOOK    AHEAD 


BY 


^ 


ISMAR    TIIIUSEN 


NEW  YORK 
G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

27  AND  29  West  23d  Street 
1883 


Copyright,  1883, 
By  G.  p.  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 


5-235^1^ 


ooiNrTE]srTS. 


CHAP.  PAGK, 

I.  The  Experiment 1 

II.  The  City  and  its  People 8 

III.  Pa^vA 20 

IV.  The  Country 28 

V.  The  Home  of  Utis 38 

VI.    ISMAR 55 

VII.   End  of  the  First  Day 69 

VIII.  The  Morning  Task 73 

IX.  A  Proposal 81 

X.  A  Game  at  Chess 93 

XI.  The  PHONOGKiVPH 101 

XII.  De  Rep.us  adhuc  Caligine  Mersis    ....  108 

XIII.  An  Excursion 123 

XIV.  Co-Education 129 

XV.  A  New  Acquaintance 138 

XVI.  The  New  Society 147 

XVII.  The  Zerdar 156 

XVIII,  Utis  and  Ulmene 163 

XIX.  ViORA  AND  Zerua 1G8 

XX.   Niata's  Request 177 

XXI.  Social  Arrangements     .       ,       .       .       .       .       .  184 

iii 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP. 

PAOE. 

XXII. 

ISMAB  MEETS  HIS  COUSIXS  .... 

.    l'J3 

XXIII. 

A  Public  Dixneu 

199 

XXIV. 

Anvar's  Failike 

.    207 

XXV. 

The  Canada  Thistle     .... 

214 

XXVI. 

ISMAB  AND  ReVA 

221 

XXVII. 

Music 

2.30 

XXVIII. 

An  Important  Conveksation  . 

.    2:J7 

XXIX. 

Metempsychosis 

240 

XXX. 

A  Curricle-Ride 

.    2G0 

XXXI. 

Happy  Hours 

2i;.s 

XXXII. 

The  Guest-Chamber 

.    279 

XXXIII. 

ISMAK  SEES  AN   OlD  ACQUAINTANCE       . 

288 

XXXIV. 

Boston 

.    298 

XXXV. 

Reva's  Lecture 

306 

XXXVI. 

A  Kiss  AND  ITS  Consequences 

.    312 

XXXVII. 

An  Unforeseen  Discovery  . 

321 

XXX  VIII. 

.    332 

XXXIX. 

The  Letter 

343 

XL. 

Conclusion 

.    349 

THE    DIOTHAS; 

OB, 

A     FAR     LOOK    AHEAD 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    EXPERIMENT. 


"  "What  you  assert  is  as  iucompreliensible  as  it  is 
strange." 

My  old  friend,  usually  so  earnestly  matter-of-fact,  now 
so  mysteriously  earnest,  regarded  me  with  a  quiet  smile, 
much  as  an  elder  listens  to  the  objections  of  a  child. 

"  You  have  it  in  your  power  to  judge  for  yourself, 
subject  to  the  conditions  already  mentioned." 

As  I  gazed  at  ray  interlocutor,  his  serene  confidence 
began  to  dispel  my  incredulity,  and  produce  that  condi- 
tion of  trusting  belief  in  his  power  demanded  as  an  in- 
dispensable prerequisite  for  the  purpose  in  view.  "What 
we  intensely  desire  to  be  true,  we  strongly,  almost  inevi- 
tably, tend  to  accept  as  true. 

"I  am  willing  to  try  the  experiment,"  said  I,  after  a 
long  pause. 

' '  Remember  the  conditions, ' '  was  the  response.    ' '  Your 

1 


2  THE   DfOTHAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

mind  is  imaginative  and  poetical ;  mine  logical,  and  fairly 
stored  witli  science  and  lii-story.  It  isj  necessary  to  the 
success  of  our  experiment,  that  your  mind  submit  entirely 
to  the  guidance  of  mine." 

''  1  consent,"  was  my  reply.     "  Let  us  begin  at  once." 

Rising  witliout  a  word  from  his  seat  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  fireplace,  he  turned  down  the  lamp,  so  as  to 
leave  only  a  subdued  light.  Then,  standing  on  the  rug 
before  me,  he  began  to  make  tlie  peculiar  passes  employed 
by  mesmerists, — -to  whose  influence,  I  may  remark  in 
passing,  I  have  always  been  highly'  susceptible. 

Gradually  the  objects  before  me  grew  indistinct:  the 
multitudinous  noises  of  the  busy  street  below  died  away 
to  a  gentle  murmur,  like  the  sound  of  distant  waves. 
That,  too,  ceased.  I  was  wrapped  in  a  profound  and 
dreamless  sleep. 

Suddenly  I  awoke.  My  friend  was  standing  in  the 
same  position  as  before,  and  was  regarding  me  intently, 
not  without  some  appearance  of  anxiety.  The  ai)art- 
ment  presented  its  usual  appearance,  as  I  could  well  see, 
the  lamp  being  now  turned  up.  Full  of  disappointment, 
I  supposed  the  experiment  to  have  failed.  For  there  I 
was,  as  wide  awake,  apparently,  as  ever  I  had  been,  with 
no  sign  of  any  thing  unusual  in  my  surroundings. 

Evidently  reading  my  feelings  in  my  countenance,  he 
said,  pointing  toward  the  door,  — 

"  Beyond  that  slight  partition  you  will  find  that  future 
society  upon  which  you  have  so  often  curiously  specu- 
lated. It  is  now  in  your  power  to  see  and  judge  for 
yourself. '  * 

While  speaking  he  had  approached  the  door.     After  a 


THE   EXPERIMENT.  3 

momontai'y  hesitation,  I  followed,  and  passed  through. 
Outside,  instead  of  the  familiar  lauding  aud  the  stairs  up 
which  I  had  so  often  wearily  plodded,  extended,  far  as  I 
could  see,  a  fairly  lighted  corridor  of  handsome  propor- 
tions. In  surprise  I  turned  involuntarily  toward  the  door 
through  which  I  had  just  passed ;  but  that,  too,  had  van- 
ished. The  corridor  extended,  apparent!}',  as  far  in  that 
direction  as  in  the  other.  For  the  moment,  at  least,  we 
two  seemed  to  be  the  only  occupants  of  this  seemingly 
endless  galler}'.  Smiling  at  my  look  .of  amazement,  my 
companion  said,  — 

"You  seem  surprised;  but  are  \ov\  quite  certain  of 
never  having  seen  this  place  before?  " 

"  Absolutely  certain  !  "  was  my  emphatic  reply. 

My  companion  regarded  me  with  a  look  of  keen  in- 
quir}^,  seemed  to  repress  some  observation  that  rose  to 
his  lips,  but  went  on  to  say,  — 

"  On  passing  at  a  step  from  the  nineteenth  to  the 
ninetj'-sixth  century,  you  must  uaturall}'  expect  to  find 
mau}'^  changes.  The  New  York  you  knew  and  dwelt  in 
crumbled  into  dust  almost  eighty  centuries  ago,  in  the 
ages  that  are  now  regarded  as  the  twilight  of  history. 
Its  fragments  form  only  the  lowermost  layer  of  the  five 
fathoms  deep  of  detritus  on  which  the  present  citj^  stands, 
the  accumulated  remains  of  a  succession  of  cities,  each 
more  magnificent  than  its  predecessor." 

Meanwhile  we  had  reached  aud  entered  one  of  the 
recesses  from  which  the  corridor  seemed  to  receive  its 
light.  This  recess  was  closed  toward  the  street  by  a 
single  sheet  of  glass,  presenting  no  visible  outlet.  It 
3'ielded,  however,  to  a  gentle  push  from  my  companion, 


4  THE   DfOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

aud,  turniug  on  a  central  pivot,  oflfered  a  means  of  exit 
by  which  we  passed  to  the  open  air. 

We  now  found  ourselves  in  a  colonnade,  or,  rather, 
arcade,  Avhich  1  supposed  to  be  on  the  level  of  the  street. 
Its  width  might  be  about  that  of  our  Broadway  sidewalk. 
Here  I  saw  shops,  indeed,  and  nunil)ers  of  people  passing 
in  both  directions,  but  could  not  see  the  throng  of  vehi- 
cles indicated  by  the  sounds  that  reached  my  ears.  I 
stepped  over  to  the  balustrade  that  bounded  the  farther 
side  of  the  arcade,  aud  found  that  I  was  by  no  means  on 
the  level  of  the  street,  but  in  a  sort  of  balcony  two  stories 
above  it.  The  room  I  had  left  but  a  moment  before  was 
fully  sixty  feet  above  the  sidewalic.  New  York  had  truly 
risen,  in  the  course  of  ages,  upon  the  ruius  of  its  former 
self. 

I  was  struck  with  amazement  at  the  spectacle  before 
me.  How  different  this  from  the  Broadway  up  which  I 
had  sauntered  but  a  few  hours  before  ! 

The  buildings,  it  is  true,  were  not  much  taller  than 
those  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed  ;  but  their  effect 
was  indescribably  grand  and  strange.  Imagine  the  pres- 
ent sidewalk  covered  by  an  arcade  supported  on  arches 
and  pillars  of  polished  granite.  The  architecture  was  of 
a  style  to  me  utterly  unknown,  but  combined  in  a  remark- 
able degree  tiie  characteristics  of  lightness  and  solidit}'. 
Above  the  lower  arcade  rose  others,  one  for  each  story, 
each  slightly  receding  within  the  other,  aud  of  corre- 
si)ondingly  lighter  construction.  The  material  of  only  the 
lowest  arcade  was  of  stone  ;  that  of  the  upper  ones  was 
a  metal,  incrusted  with  a  peculiar  oxide  of  stone  color. 
So  similar  was  it,  indeed,  to  stone,  that  it  was  only  by 


TTTE   EXPERIMENT.  5 

accident  I  discovered  the  real  material  of  the  delicate 
carved  work,  surpassing  in  airy  grace  and  exuberant 
variety  of  detail  the  far-famed  wonders  of  the  Alhambra. 
The  whole,  though  pervaded  by  a  controlling  unity  of 
design,  varied  in  details  from  story  to  story  and  from 
block  to  block ;  while  color,  sparingly  and  judiciously 
introduced,  relieved  the  monotony  of  the  stony-hued 
masses. 

No  intersecting  streets  were  appai-ent,  but  their  posi- 
tion was  indicated  by  the  wide  and  massive  archways  that 
pierced  at  intervals  the  otherwise  unbroken  lines  of  colon- 
nade stretching  toward  the  distant  horizon.  Over  each 
archway,  semi- recessed  in  a  niche,  stood  a  statue,  each  a 
work  of  genius.  These  statues,  portraits  as  regards  the 
features,  but  otherwise  emblematic,  served  to  indicate 
the  names  of  the  cross-streets.  I  was  looking  down 
upon  the  "Wavoltha,  or  Avenue  of  Nations,  the  main  artery 
of  the  great  city.  Of  the  figures  above  the  archways, 
each  pair  symbolized  one  of  the  great  nations  of  tlie  earth 
in  the  persons  of  its  most  distinguished  son  and  most 
distinguished  daughter. 

I  was  allowed  to  remain  only  a  short  time  at  the  spot 
from  which  I  caught  my  first  glimpse  of  these  wonders. 
Obedient  to  a  gesture  from  my  companion,  I  followed 
him  a  short  distance  along  the  arcade.  He  led  me  to  the 
middle  of  one  of  the  light  bridges,  that,  thrown  across  at 
convenient  intervals,  afforded  passage  from  one  side  to 
the  otlier  without  the  necessity  of  descending  to  the  street. 

From  this  spot  I  could  pursue  with  m}'  e3'es  the  far- 
receding  ranges  of  building  to  where,  in  the  distant  per- 
spective, what  loomed  up  so  huge  close  by,  seemed  reduced 


6  THE   DIOTIJAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

• 

to  comparative  insignifioanco.  Tlicse  long  arcades,  I  was 
informed,  as  also  the  interior  corridors,  extended  the 
whole  length  of  the  avenne  foi-  six  miles  without  a  break. 
As  a  natural  consequence  of  this  peculiar  style  of  build- 
ing, the  respective  location  of  shops  and  oflices  was 
exactl}''  the  reverse  of  that  now  seen.  The  lower  story 
was  assigned  to  offices  and  warerooms :  the  shops  were 
in  the  upper  stories.  Each  arcade,  in  fact,  was  equiva- 
lent to  a  whole  street-front,  possessing  the  great  advan- 
tages of  complete  shelter  from  rain,  sun,  and  dust, 
besides  being  free  from  the  interruption  of  cross-streets 
in  all  above  the  lowest. 

Manhattan  Island,  as  might  have  been  expected,  had, 
long  ages  before,  become,  so  to  say,  one  enormous  ware- 
house, —  the  chief  port  of  entry  for  a  population  of 
more  than  a  thousand  millions.  Space  was  far  too  valua- 
ble to  be  occupied  with  dwelling-houses.  Besides,  with 
their  wonderful  facilities  for  locomotion,  a  distance  of 
fifty  miles  from  the  centre  of  business  was  of  less  con- 
sequence than  five  at  present. 

All  this,  of  course,  was  not  learned  during  the  few 
minutes  I  devoted  to  gazing  at  the  buildings.  They  so 
engrossed  my  attention  for  the  moment,  that  I  bestowed 
scarcely  a  glance  on  the  busy  traffic  at  ni}'  feet.  I  not 
only  asked  no  questions,  but  forgot  even  the  presence  of 
my  companion,  vi\\o  stood  by  in  silence. 

Soon,  however,  my  eyes  wandered  from  the  works  of 
man  to  man  himself.  From  where  I  stood,  only  imper- 
fect glimpses  could  be  obtained  of  the  numerous  throng 
passing  along  the  arcades.  I  readily  assented,  thci'efore, 
to   my  companion's  proposal  to  descend  to   the   busiest 


THE  EXPERIMENT.  7 

arcade,  that  a  stoiy  below.  A  short  walk  along  the  colon- 
nade on  which  we  had  tirst  emerged  brought  us  to  a  con- 
trivance suliserving  the  same  purpose  as  our  elevators. 
This,  like  all  the  similar  contrivances  throughout  the  city, 
• — and  they  were  found  everywhere  at  short  intervals,  — 
worked  automatically,  by  an  ingenious  application  of 
force  derived  from  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  tide  in  the 
harbor. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   CITY   AND   ITS    PEOPLE. 

On  reaching  the  main  arcade,  I  found  ample  occupa- 
tion for  e3^e  and  mind  in  noting  the  person  and  costume 
of  the  handsome  race  wliose  representatives,  of  both 
sexes,  were  passing  along  with  an  elastic  step  that  gave 
token  rather  of  repreysed  energy  than  of  feverish  haste. 

The  feminine  costume,  the  most  simple  as  well  as 
graceful  that  had  ever  met  my  eye,  appeared  to  me,  un- 
versed in  such  matters,  to  consist,  as  regards  the  upper 
portion,  of  a  loose  tunic  of  some  white  or  grayish  mate- 
rial. This  was  confined  round  the  waist  by  a  silken  sash 
or  girdle,  and,  when  thus  girded  up,  reached  to  about 
midway  between  knee  and  ankle.  The  tunic  was,  how- 
ever, of  such  a  length  as  to  reach  the  instep  when  not 
sustained  by  the  girdle.  Such  was,  indeed,  the  usual  way 
of  wearing  this  garment  indoors  ;  it  being  then  allowed  to 
flow  to  the  feet,  unless  the  wearer  was  engaged  in  some 
active  occupation.  The  lower  part  of  the  costume  con- 
sisted of  a  sort  of  Turkish  trousers  confined  round  the 
ankles. 

The  feet  were  not  imprisoned  in  the  uncomfortable  and 
unsightly  coverings  of  the  present,  which  seem  designed 
8 


THE   CITY  AND   ITS  PEOPLE.  9 

to  compel  the  human  foot,  naturally  so  beautiful,  to  re- 
semble a  hideous  hoof. ,  Here  I  saw  the  feet  protected 
by  a  sandal  carefully  adapted  to  its  purpose.  This  sandal 
might  aptly  be  compared  to  a  shoe  with  only  a  vestige  of 
a  heel,  and  having  the  upper  leather  cut  away  to  below 
the  instep.  The  sole  consisted  of  a  thin  layer  of  some 
highly  elastic  material,  protected  beneath  by  a  harder 
substance,  the  latter  not  in  one  piece,  but  a*ranged  in 
strips,  so  as  to  allow  the  foot  to  bend  as  freely  as  when 
unshod. 

Over  the  shoulders  was  worn  a  sort  of  light  scarf  oi 
mantilla,  fastened  in  front,  or  over  one  shoulder,  by  a 
simple  clasp  of  artistic  design,  the  only  article  of  jewellery 
that  seemed  to  be  worn.  The  scarf  was  worn  of  various 
hues,  though  of  much  fainter  tones  than  the  borders  of 
the  tunic,  which  were  usually  of  some  bright  color,  scar- 
let, blue,  or  pink.  It  was  the  girdle,  however,  that  es- 
pecially lent  richness  to  the  whole,  by  its  brilliant  color 
and  elaborate  emliroider}'. 

The  wearers  of  this  costume  displayed  no  other  cover- 
ing on  their  heads  than  their  luxuriant  masses  of  wavy 
hair,  gathered  into  a  graceful  knot,  with  or  without  braids  ; 
or  allowed  to  flow  freely  behind,  confined,  at  most,  by  a 
ribbon.  This  fashion  of  allowing  the  hair  to  hang  down 
■was  confined,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  to  maidens  not 
betrothed.  Matrons  and  betrothed  maidens  were,  again, 
distinguished  by  other  peculiarities  in  the  arrangement  of 
their  hair.  This  was  both  prescribed  by  express  law, 
and  established  by  what  is  yet  stronger,  —  the  custom  of 
immemorial  ages.  Coverings  for  the  head  were  not  worn 
except  when   gardening,  or  other   outdoor  exercise,  ex- 


10  THE   DlOrilAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

posed  them  to  sun  or  rain.  AVhen  temporarih-  exposed 
to  the  sun,  they  would  protect  their  heads  by  throwing 
over  tliera  a  fold  of  the  scarf. 

This  elegant,  and  to  me  novel,  costume  did  not  strike 
me  with  any  great  surprise.  Even  in  the  course  of  a  life- 
time feminine  attire  is,  among  us,  subject  to  such  extreme, 
and  at  times  whimsical,  changes,  that  we  are  not  easily 
surprised  by  any  vagary  of  fashion  in  the  array  of  the 
fair  sex.  What  did  surprise  me,  however,  was  the  in- 
formation, that,  with  additions  and  changes  of  material 
for  colder  weather,  this  fashion  had  but  slightly  varied 
during  hundreds  of  generations. 

The  male  costume  consisted  of  a  short  tunic,  reaching 
not  quite  to  the  knee,  and  sandals.  The  latter  were 
similar  to  those  worn  b}"  the  women,  but  of  somewhat 
stronger  make,  and  having  the  upper  leather  of  a 
plain  buff  or  brown,  instead  of  red  or  yellow.  These 
articles,  tunic  and  sandals,  with  underclothing  consisting 
of  a  thin  woollen  shirt  and  short  drawers,  constituted  the 
entire  summer  clothing  of  the  men.  Neither  hat  nor 
glove  was  worn,  except  for  actual  protection  against  the 
rigor  of  the  seasons. 

The  practice  of  keeping  the  head  almost  alwa3'S  un- 
covered seemed  to  have  the  best  effect  upon  the  covering 
provided  by  nature.  Men  wore  their  hair  about  as  long 
as  at  present,  l)ut  in  no  case  could  I  detect  any  tendency 
to  baldness.  Even  in  those  of  advanced  years,  the  hair, 
however  white  with  age,  clustered  in  tliick,  crisp  locks 
about  tlu'ir  temples.  A  noble  race,  truly,  they  appeared 
to  me,  this  peoi)le  of  the  far-distant  future, — the  men  well 
made  and  vigorous,  though  somewhat  sun-browned  ;  the 


THE   CITY  AND   ITS  PEOPLE.  11 

women  beautiful  and  graceful  bej'ond  any  of  their  dis- 
tant ancestresses  of  the  present.  Their  beauty  arose,  not 
from  any  mere  regularity  of  feature :  countenances  as 
fair  may  even  now  be  seen  among  us.  But  long  ages  of 
intellectual  culture  had  imparted  a  character  to  their 
beauty  that  rendered  it  as  superior  to  mere  insipid  per- 
fection of  feature  as  a  living  flower  is  to  a  waxen  imita- 
tion. Many  a  fashionable  belle  may  display  hands  and 
feet  more  diminutive  than  those  I  there  saw,  but  certainly 
rarely  so  perfect  in  form,  so  graceful  in  movement. 
Could  they  but  see  for  once  the  free,  elastic  step  of  those 
rationally  shod  dames  and  damsels  of  the  future,  they 
would  cast  aside  forever  the  unsightl}'  casings  in  which 
they  now  consent  to  torture  and  distort  their  feet. 

So  interesting  to  me  was  the  observation  of  the  fea- 
tures and  costumes  of  this  magnificent  race,  that  we 
proceeded  for  some  distance  before  I  had  eyes  for  any 
thing  else,  or  found  leisure  for  questioning  my  companion. 

"  How  is  it,"  I  inquired  at  last,  "  that  we  meet  but  one 
class  of  the  population  ?  These,  I  suppose,  belong  to  the 
aristocracy  of  3'our  cit}',  —  a  noble  and  handsome  race 
indeed.  But  where  are  the  working-classes  ?  For  some 
time  I  have  been  looking  around  for  a  specimen,  but  in 
vain.     All  seem  to  belong  to  a  superior  class." 

"  AVe  have  no  aristocracy,"  was  the  reply,  "if  by 
that  3'ou  mean  a  class  living  in  idleness  by  the  toil  of 
others.  Nor  have  we  sxny  working-class,  if  you  mean  a 
class  that  spends  its  life  in  toil  that  leaves  no  leisure  for 
their  development  as  intellectual  beings.  Such  as  these 
3'ou  so  greatly  admire  compose  the  only  class  among  us. 
You  may  call  them  an  aristocracy  if  by  that  you  mean 


12  THE  DIOTIIAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

a  cultivated  and  ruling  class,  for  such  they  arc.  You 
may  also  call  theiu  the  working-class,  for  all  support 
themselves  by  their  own  exertions." 

"  What !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  That  must  imply  Commun- 
ism, or  something  like  it." 

"No:  Communism,  in  the  sense  you  mean,  does  not 
exist  among  us.  Each  is  the  owner  of  whatever  prop- 
erty he  acquires,  whether  by  gift  or  his  own  exertions. 
But  public  opinion  stigmatizes  idleness  as  the  meanest  of 
vices,  the  fruitful  parent  of  other  vices,  and  of  crime 
also.  Now,  it  has  been  ascertained,  by  careful  computa- 
tion and  by  experiment,  that  if  every  able-bodied  person 
in  a  community  works  between  three  and  four  hours  every 
day,  at  some  productive  emploj'mcnt,  the  result  will  sup- 
ply all  with  every  necessary  and  comfort  of  life,  with 
something  to  spare.  AlloAving  other  ten  hours  for  sleep 
and  refreshment,  there  remain  still  other  ten  for  mental 
imi)rovement,  and  such  unproductive  pursuits  as  individ- 
ual taste  may  prefer. 

"  If  any  live  in  idleness,  it  is  evident  that  others  must 
toil  to  support  them.  Time-honored  custom,  therefore, 
requires  that  all  children,  whether  boys  or  girls,  shall 
acquire  some  handicraft.  For  the  present,  I  must  defer 
a  full  account  of  our  social  arrangements  to  some  other 
occasion.  I  shall  merely  remark,  that  we  consider  the 
body  as  well  as  the  mind  to  stand  in  need  of  due  exercise 
to  preserve  it  in  sound  condition.  It  has  been  found,  that 
no  physical  exercise  is  so  beneficial  and  pleasing  as  labor 
skilfully  directed  toward  some  definite  object.  All.  there- 
fore, whether  possessing  nuich  or  little,  men  and  women, 
young  and  old,  spend  a  certain  number  of  hours  each  day 


THE   CITY  AND   ITS  PEOPLE.  13 

iu  some  productive  employment,  and  no  more  dream  of 
having  their  work  done  by  others  than  of  having  eating, 
sleeping,  or  digestion  performed  by  deputy.  In  universal 
industry  has  been  found  a  panacea  for  the  worst  of  the 
evils  that  for  long  ages  were  the  curse  of  societ}'  and  the 
despair  of  legislators.  Our  labor,  however,  is  not  drudg- 
ery. A  few  steps  will  take  us  to  a  window  where  you 
may  see  and  judge  for  yourself  to  what  perfection 
machinery  has  been  brought.  We  merely  guide :  the 
real  work  is  performed  by  forces  once  allowed  to  go  to 
waste." 

Had  I  been  one  of  that  sex  whose  special  delight  is 
shopping,  I  should  ere  this,  no  doubt,  have  begun  my 
observations  on  the  shop-windows.  But  man  has  ever 
been  to  me  of  greater  interest  than  things.  What  atten- 
tion, therefore,  I  could  spare  from  my  companion's 
explanations,  was  directed  to  the  persons  that,  by  these 
very  explanations,  became  olijects  of  yet  greater  interest 
than  before.  Meanwhile  we  had  been  passing  along, 
whither  I  had  time  neither  to  think  nor  inquire.  As 
my  companion  ceased  speaking,  he  brought  me  to  a  stand 
before  a  large  window,  formed,  like  the  rest,  of  what 
appeared  to  be  one  immense  sheet  of  plate-glass. 

Within  was  displayed  machiuer}',  whose  workmanship  I 
could  not  help  admiring,  though  I  could  form  not  the 
slightest  idea  of  its  purpose.  My  attention  was  first 
arrested  by  the  fact,  that  those  parts  of  the  mechanism 
that  now  would  be  made  of  iron  or  steel  appeared  to  be 
of  polished  silver.  Glass,  too,  was  employed  to  an  ex- 
tent that  surprised  me,  considering  the  brittle  nature  of 
that  material.     Iu  answer  to  my  inquiry,  I  learned  that 


14  THE   nrOTFTAS;    OR,   A   PAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

what  secMnc<l  to  mc  silver  was,  in  reality,  a  peculiar 
variety  of  steel,  coated  with  au  extremely  hard  alloy  of 
aliiiniiHini. 

"  Even  in  your  day,"  said  m}'  informant,  "  the  ores  of 
this  metal  were  known  to  be  more  abundant  than  those 
of  iron  even.  But,  as  none  but  expensive  methods  were 
known  for  extracting  it  from  its  ores,  aluminum  remained 
of  slight  practical  importance.  Since  then  processes 
have  been  discovered  that  render  aluminum  and  other  kin- 
dred metals  as  abundant  as  iron.  On  account  of  its 
lightness,  and  the  slowness  with  which  it  tarnishes  in  the 
air,  this  metal  is  now  preferred  to  iron  for  numberless 
purposes.  Even  when  iron  is  employed,  it  is  generally 
coated  with  this  alloy,  which  preserves  it  from  rust,  and 
makes  the  use  of  machinery  much  cleanlier,  —  a  matter  of 
no  slight  importance,  as  machines  are  used  for  every 
purpose. 

"  That  machine  you  see  before  j'ou  is  a  regulator,  an 
indispensable  article  of  household  furniture.  It  supplies, 
or,  rather,  distri1)utes,  the  motive-power  required  for  any 
purpose  to  which  machiner}'  is  applicable." 

"But  why  is  so  much  glass  employed  in  these  ma- 
chines?" said  I.  "The  mere  vibration  should  be  suffi- 
cient to  utterly  destroy  it." 

"Here  is  the  explanation,"  he  replied,  and  struck 
with  all  the  power  of  his  arm  a  heavy  blow  against  the 
immense  window-pane. 

I  started  in  consternation,  expecting  to  see  the  splen- 
did sheet  of  glass  shattered,  with  all  sorts  of  unpleasant 
consequences.  The  only  result,  however,  was  a  dull, 
muffled  sound,  as  if  he  had  struck  the  side  of  a  boiler. 


THE   CITY  AND   ITS  PEOPLE.  15 

Attracted  by  the  sound,  a  pleasant,  white-haired  gen- 
tleman appeared  in  the  door-way.  Without  a  sym[)tom 
of  concern  in  regard  to  his  costly  window,  he  greeted  ui}' 
companion  with  a  smile  of  recognition. 

"I  see,  Utis,"  —  for  so  he  addressed  my  friend, — 
"you,  too,  are  interested  by  my  window.  The  new  sys- 
tem of  packing  works  well.  You  notice  there  is  scarcely 
any  vibration." 

After  a  few  more  words  he  retired  ;  and  my  friend,  see- 
ing me  still  eying  the  window  with  astonishment,  said,  as 
he  tapped  the  pane,  — 

"  You  might  strike  this  with  all  the  force  you  can  put 
into  a  hammer.  Dent  it  you  possibly  might,  but  shatter 
it  you  cannot." 

"In  the  name  of  wonder!  "  exclaimed  I,  "what  sub- 
stance is  this  that  appears  to  combine  such  incongruous 
properties?     Is  it  glass,  or  iron  ?  " 

"This  is  malleable  glass,"  was  the  reply,  "perhaps 
the  most  useful  invention  of  the  lafet  fifty  centuries.  Had 
a  single  man  brought  it  to  perfection,  he  would  deservedly 
be  reckoned  among  the  chief  benefactors  of  mankind.  As 
it  is,  however,  the  name  of  the  first  inventor  is  unknown, 
or  at  least  disputed  ;  for  this  invaluable  material  is  pro- 
duced in  its  present  perfection,  only  by  the  improvements 
slowly  effected  in  the  course  of  many  ages. 

"  As  now  made,  this  material  possesses  most  of  the  use- 
ful properties  of  a  metal,  combined  with  the  important 
advantages  of  being  transparent  and  practicably  inde- 
structible. We  could  spare  almost  any  other  of  our  inven- 
tions better  than  this.  On  the  other  side  of  the  street  is 
a  range  of  buildings  where  nothing  else  is  sold  but  ualin, 


16  THE   DfOTTIAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

as  we  call  it,  in  its  various  applications.  Our  present 
civilization  is  founded  to  such  an  extent  upon  our  posses- 
sion of  this  material,  that  you  cannot  better  begin  your 
study  of  the  one  than  by  noting  the  manifold  ai)plications 
of  the  other." 

Now  that  mention  was  made  of  crossing  the  street,  I 
cast  a  look  over  the  balustrade,  and  wondered  how  the 
crossing  was  to  be  effected.  The  surface  of  the  street,  I 
well  saw,  was  occupied  by  four  tracks.  Upon  the  inner 
pair  of  these  careered,  at  frequent  intervals,  vehicles  of 
strange  appearance,  at  a  speed  of  ten  or  twelve  miles  an 
hour.  To  cross  between  these  was  evidently  a  matter  of 
great  risk,  nor  did  I  see  any  one  attempting  the  passage. 
My  guide  solved  the  difficulty  by  simply  leading  me  across 
one  of  the  bridges  already  mentioned. 

The  arcades  on  this  side  presented  as  numerous  a 
throng  as  those  on  the  side  we  had  just  left.  Here,  too, 
the  current  of  traffic  showed  a  decided  set  toward  the 
north.  The  windows  of  the  various  stores,  which  I  now 
began  to  examine  with  more  attention,  disi)laycd  behind 
their  glittering  panes  a  vast  array  of  objects,  of  whose 
names  and  uses  I  was  as  ignorant  as  a  savage.  One 
strange  object  after  another  met  ni}'  view,  in  such  rapid 
succession  that  there  was  no  time  for  asking  questions. 

Soon  we  had  reached  the  place  we  were  seeking.  It 
would  be  useless  to  attempt  a  detailed  description  of  the 
bewildering  variety  of  crystal  ware  there  displayed.  The 
first  store  we  visited  was  devoted  to  the  sale  of  glass  for 
doors  and  windows.  There  it  la}',  piled  up  in  endless  pro- 
fusion,—  plain,  or  curved,  or  curiously  bent,  colorless,  or 
tinted  in  various  hues  ;  not  tenderly  packed  in  straw,  but 


THE   CITY  AND   ITS  PEOPLE.  17 

heaped  up  much  as  we  see  tin  or  boiler-plate.  Here  I 
had  the  satisfaction  of  convincing  myself,  by  actual  ex- 
periment with  a  hammer,  that  I  could  not  break  even  a 
thin  piece  of  this  malleable  glass  that  was  given  mt.  I 
was  able  to  beat  it  out  of  shape,  but  not  to  break  it.  In 
other  stores  I  saw  all  sorts  of  culinary  and  other  domestic 
utensils,  all  made  of  this  glass.  Elsewhere,  again,  were 
found  baths,  wardrobes,  water-pipes,  all  kinds  of  ware, 
indeed,  now  usually  made  of  wood,  terra-cotta,  or  metal. 
In  another  place  the  chemical  apparatus  specially  excited 
my  interest.  I  had  been  somewhat  of  a  dabbler  in  that 
science,  but  here  I  found  my  knowledge  of  small  avail. 
I  could  not  even  guess  at  the  uses  of  the  great  variety  of 
articles  displaj^ed  before  my  bewildered  e3'es.  Some 
few  instruments  had,  in  some  degree,  preserved  their 
present  forms  throughout  the  long  series  of  intervening 
ages.  But,  with  a  sigh  of  humiliation,  I  felt  within  me 
that  I  belonged  to  the  dark  ages  of  the  far  past. 

M}'  friend  took  as  much  pleasure  in  explaining  as  I  in 
questioning.  Yet,  as  he  remarked,  many  things  are  im- 
possible of  clear  explanation  to  even  the  acutest  ifitellect 
that  lacks  the  requisite  preliminary  information.  Science 
had  taken  immense  strides,  and  many  of  them  ;  and  I  had 
yet  to  acquire  the  rudiments  of  the  new  system  of  knowl- 
edge. 

"  It  is  about  time  to  leaA-e  the  city,"  said  my  compan- 
ion, when  we  again  found  ourselves  outdoors.  "My 
home  is  fully  thirty  miles  outside  the  city,  and  we  must 
not  be  late  for  dinner.  Punctualit}',  in  even  the  minor 
affairs  of  life,  is,  with  us,  less  a  virtue  than  a  mental 
habit." 


18  THE  DIOTIIAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

Up  to  this  raomout,  strange  to  sa}-,  I  had  given  not  a 
thoiiglit  to  my  own  dress,  1  had  been  too  absorbed  in 
observing  that  of  others.  But,  at  this  most  unexpected 
invitation  to  dinner,  an  alarming  thought  suggested  itself. 
How  was  I  to  present  myself  before  strangers,  perhaps 
ladies,  in  the  dressing-gown  and  slippers  that  formed  my 
array  before  I  left  my  chamber  on  this  eventful  journey  ? 
What  a  spectacle  had  I  been  presenting  !  With  alarm  I 
cast  a  hasty  glance  over  my  habiliments,  and  observed, 
for  the  first  time,  that  the  same  influence  that  had  trans- 
lated me  to  a  distant  age  had  effected  a  corresponding 
alteration  in  my  outward  appearance.  I  found  myself 
arrayed,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  in  the  prevailing  style 
of  the  period.  It  now  occurred  to  me,  that,  among  the 
great  variety  of  glass-ware,  I  had  noticed  no  mirrors, 
among  us  so  important.  On  expressing  ni}'  surprise,  I 
was  informed  that  the  habits  and  costume  of  men  were  so 
simple  that  they  rarely  found  occasion  for  such  an  article. 

"  But  their  wives  and  daughters?  "  I  suggested. 

He  acknowledged,  with  a  smile,  that  mirrors  were  in 
use  among  the  fair  sex. 

"  It  is  their  privilege,"  said  he,  "  to  be  beautiful,  and, 
in  some  measure,  a  social  obligation  to  keep  themselves 
so.  The  arrangement  of  their  hair,  especially,  though 
simple,  requires  the  aid  of  a  mirror.  I  understand,  how- 
ever, why  you  wish  to  see  one  ;  and,  as  it  may  put  you 
more  at  your  ease,  I  will  take  yow  to  where  3'ou  can  view 
yourself  at  full  length." 

After  a  few  moments'  reflection,  he  bethought  himself 
of  a  place  where  such  articles  were  for  sale,  and  took  me 
there.     Though   of   excellent    quality,  the    glasses  were 


THE   CITY  AND   ITS  PEOPLE.  19 

generally  of  medium  size.  In  one  of  the  lo^rgest  I  sur- 
veyed my  personal  appearance  in  as  serious  earnest  as 
ever  did  a  3'oung  beauty  arra^^ed  for  her  first  ball,  or, 
indeed,  as  I  myself  had  felt  when  about  to  —  But  that 
story  has  no  business  here. 

Tliough  not  endowed  with  more  than  the  average  share 
of  vanity  that  falls  to  my  sex,  I  was  certainly  in  some 
anxiety  as  to  the  appearance  I  presented  in  my  novel 
garb.  The  inspection  was  satisfactory.  Not  only  my 
clothing,  but  also  my  2)hysi(pie,  had  slightly  changed,  and 
for  the  better,  so  as  to  correspond  with  that  of  the  new 
race  among  whom  I  found  m^'self. 

My  somewhat  prominent  beak  was  toned  down  to  a 
gentle  aquiline.  My  eyes,  for  which  I  had  lately-  been 
obliged  to  procure  glasses,  had  recovered  all  the  bright- 
ness of  the  days  before  they  had  been  tried  by  much  read- 
ing of  poor  print.  They,  as  weir  as  my  hair,  had  also 
assumed  a  darker  hue,  —  a  tendency  prevalent  among  the 
new  race.  My  friend's  surmise  proved  correct.  This 
glance  at  the  mirror  had  removed  all  uneasiness  as  to  my 
personal  appearance.  Cheerfully  I  turned  to  announce 
my  readiness  to  proceed,  and  remarked,  for  the  first  time, 
that  a  similar  change  had  taken  place  in  the  well-known 
features  of  my  companion.  It  might  not  unaptl3'be  com- 
pared to  the  peculiar  phonetic  change  that  had  softened 
to  litis  Estai  the  name  by  which  he  had  been  known  to  me 
in  that  former  life  of  mine. 


CHAPTER  III. 

REVA. 

On  descending  to  the  level  of  the  street,  I  fonnd  my- 
self for  the  first  time  under  the  lowest  arcade.  Serving, 
as  it  did,  for  a  substructure  to  the  upper  ones,  it  was  l)uilt 
of  corresponding  strength  in  hewn  granite.  Though  infi- 
nitely superior  in  grace  and  lightness,  it  reminded  me  of 
the  somewhat  similar  structures  found  in  certain  of  the 
streets  of  Berne. 

Following  my  guide,  I  entered  a  vehicle  standing  near 
the  curbstone  on  a  sort  of  siding.  The  car  was  of  liglit 
build  and  elegant  appearance ;  the  extensive  use  of 
aluminum  and  tinted  ualin  rendering  it  possil)le,  in  their 
construction,  to  combine  great  beauty  of  form  with  ex- 
traordinar}'  lightness  and  strength.  A  separate  seat  was 
provided  for  each  person,  and  every  thing  was  scrupu- 
lousl}-  clean.  Before  stepping  on  the  neat  matting,  I 
imitated  my  companion  in  carefully  dusting  my  sandals 
upon  the  revolving  brush  provided  for  the  purpose  on  the 
platform. 

Perceiving  neither  horses  nor  any  indication  of  the 
presence  of  steam,  I  asked  what  motive-power  was  em- 
ployed. Steam,  I  learned,  was  seldom  employed  for  any 
20 


EEVA.  21 

l^urpose.  Electric  motors  of  various  kinds  had  been 
brouglit  to  a  high  degree  of  perfection,  and  were  pre- 
ferred for  many  reasons.  Each  of  these  cars,  it  seems, 
had  its  own  motor.  This  was  placed  under  the  body  of 
the  car,  between  the  wheels,  and  was  so  compact  as  to 
escape  notice  at  a  first  glance. 

"  Electrical  as  well  as  chemical  science,"  said  my  com- 
panion, "  has  made  such  progress  since  your  period,  that 
many,  things  then  regarded  as  difficult  or  impossible  have 
become  matters  of  every^-day  use.  It  requires,  indeed, 
some  effort  on  our  part  to  conceive  how  the  way  to  their 
discovery  was  so  long  missed.  The  great  discovery  of 
the  principle  that  enal)les  us  to  store  a  large  amount  of 
electric  force  in  a  small  space  was  long  missed  by  a  hair's- 
breadth,  as  it  were.  Yet  this  discovery  brought  about 
even  greater  changes  in  the  social  condition  of  mankind 
than  did  the  improvement  of  the  steam-engine.  l'>lec- 
tricity  completed,  in  some  cases,  what  steam  had  begun. 
Such,  for  example,  was  the  gradual  disuse  of  animal 
power,  first  for  draught,  at  last  for  any  purpose  whatever. 
In  other  cases,  electricity  reversed  the  effect  of  steam. 
Such  was  the  utter  abolition  of  the  factory  sj-stem,  with 
all  its  attendant  evils." 

We  had  been  the  first  to  enter  the  car,  which,  during 
the  short  time  since  our  entrance,  had  been  rapidly  filling. 
Just  before  the  car  started,  another  passenger  entered,  — 
a  lovely  girl.  I  chanced  to  turn  my  ej^es  that  way,  as  she 
momentarily  paused  in  the  doonVa}-,  —  the  pause  of  a 
dove  about  to  alight ;  and  my  attention  was  irrevocably 
distracted  from  the  conehiding  remarks  of  my  companion. 
Many  beautiful  faces   had   come   under  my  observutiou 


22  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

during  our  progress  along  the  arcades :  none,  indeed,  but 
beautiful  faces  were  to  be  seen.  But  none  had  for  me 
such  an  iuexplicable  attraction  as  that  of  the  fair  girl 
now  appearing  at  the  entrance. 

It  was  not  her  mere  beauty  and  grace  ;  though  she  was 
sui-i):issingly  lovely,  and  in  tiie  first  blush  of  youth.  The 
arrangement  of  her  beautiful  hair,  of  a  rich  brown,  as 
glossy,  and  seemingly  as  soft,  as  floss  silk,  indicated  a 
maid  still  unbetrothed.  With  a  graceful  gesture  9i  rec- 
ognition she  smiling!}'  greeted  ni}'  companion,  took  a  seat 
beside  him,  and  entered  into  an  animated  conversation. 
From  this  I  gathered  that  she  was  a  near  neighbor  of  my 
friend's,,  and  that  she  had  been  in  the  city  on  a  shop- 
ping excursion.  The  result  of  her  visit  she  carried  in  a 
small  reticule,  and,  at  my  friend's  request,  produced  the 
article  for  his  inspection.  When  produced,  it  proved  to 
be  neither  dry-goods,  jewellery,  nor  even  light  literature. 
It  was  a  piece  of  mechanism  of  high  finish.  In  size  and 
weight  it  might  be  compared  with,  say,  a  navy-revolver, 
though,  of  course,  differing  greatly,  both  in  form  and  pur- 
pose, from  that  amiable  instrument. 

How  tenderly  she  handled  this  strange-looking  toy  ! 
With  what  admiration  did  she  regard  it,  while,  almost 
fondly,  she  turned  it  this  way  and  that  in  her  shapely 
hands !  How  her  dark  violet  eyes  sparkled,  while,  with 
youthful  animation,  she  explained  some  peculiarity  or 
advantage  in  the  mechanism  ! 

From  what  I  could  nnderstand,  it  was  some  ingenious 
inechanical  contrivance  of  imi)roved  construction,  con- 
nected with  some  of  the  manifold  applications  of  elec- 
tricity.    As  for  myself,  my  position  did  not  differ  greatly 


REV  A.  23 


from  that  in  which  a  fairly  educated  contemporary  of 
Cicero  would  find  himself  while  listening  to,  and  trymg 
to  follow,  a  bright  Vassar  girl's  explanation  of  the  pur- 
pose and  working  of  an  improved  telegraph  instrument  or 
pliotographic  camera. 

Some  such  ideas  were  passing  through  my  mmd ;  but, 
after  all,  they  constituted  only  the  sub-current  of  thought. 
My  attention  was  mainly  occupied  in  following  the  changes 
of  expression  on  a  lovely  face,  in  listening  to  the  varying 
tones  of  a  melodious  voice.     As  I  said  before,  the  face 
had,  for  some  reason  quite  apart  from  its  beauty,  exer- 
cised a  mysterious  attraction  on  me,  even  before  the  owner 
began  to  speak.     The  sound  of  her  voice  completed  the 
charm,  producing  in  me  a  state  of  feeling  in  which  pre- 
dominated   a   sort   of   puzzled  bewilderment.     Why  did 
that  face  at  one  moment  vividly  recall  the  expression  of 
some  one  whose  name  ought  to  be  familiar,  yet  could  not 
be  recalled?     Suddenly,  again,  as  in  a  flash,  the  expres- 
sion would  change  to  one  quite  different,  though  equally 
familiar.     How  was  it  that  certain   intonations    of   that 
voice  seemed  to  waken  some  slumbering  chords  of  mem- 
ory, disconnected,  however,  and  strangely   baffling;   as 
when,  from  some  stray  notes  floating  in  the  memory,  we 
vainly  endeavor  to  complete  the  melody  of   which  they 
formed  a  part? 

These  pre-occupations  so  filled  my  mind,  that  I  gave 
heed  neither  to  our  starting  nor  to  our  mode  of  progression. 
The  account  must,  accordmgly,  be  filled  from  my  subse- 
quent observations.  First,  the  car  began  to  move  slowly 
along  the  siding,  till,  just  as  a  tram  of  cars  had  passed  on 
the  inner  track,  our  cur  glided  out  ou  that  same  track,  and, 


24  THE   DfOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

accelerating  its  speed,  soon  reached  the  hinder  car  of  the 
train  before  it.  Beneath  the  platforms  of  the  cars  were 
powerful  electro-magnets,  which  could  be  made  to  act, 
either  as  buffers  or  couplers.  As  soon  as  connection  was 
formed,  most  of  the  passengers  in  our  car  rose,  and  passed 
into  the  forward  cars  ;  while  others  passed  from  those  into 
the  hind-car.  As  we  approached  the  next  station,  this 
hindmost  car  detached  itself,  lingered  behind,  and  ran  into 
the  siding  to  discharge  passengers  ;  while,  at  the  same 
time,  a  car  that  had  been  filling  up  at  the  station  began 
to  move,  and  presentl}'  joined  on  to  the  train,  as  ours  had 
done  before.  By  this  system  of  taking  up  and  dischar- 
ging passengers,  the  train  once  started  from  the  terminus 
did  not  need  to  halt  or  slacken  speed  till  it  reached  the 
end  of  its  route. 

Presentl}',  as  we  drew  near  the  upper  terminus,  and  rose 
preparatory  to  leaving  the  car,  my  friend,  in  a  few  cour- 
teous words,  introduced  me  to  the  fair  maiden  that  had  so 
highly  excited  my  interest.  This  introduction  he  had  thus 
far  omitted,  —  as  it  seemed  to  me,  —  that,  being  under  no 
necessity  of  joining  in  the  conversation,  I  might  the  more 
freely  make  my  observations. 

She  was  introduced  under  the  name  of  Reva  Diotha ; 
I,  as  Ismar  Thiusen.  This  name,  which  I  did  not  recog- 
nize at  the  time  as  having  any  similitude  to  that  I  had 
hitherto  borne,  was  reall}^  its  legitimate  descendant,  accord- 
ing to  the  same  law  of  phonetic  change  that  had  trans- 
formed my  friend's  name  to  Utis  Estai.  In  accordance 
with  tlio  simple  thougli  courteous  manners  of  the  period, 
no  prefixes  or  titles  of  an}'  kind  were  in  use,  each  person 
being    addressed    in   society   by   his   or   her   first   name 


REVA.  25' 

merely.  The  idea  of  showing  respect  to  any  one  l)y 
means  of  an  unmeaning  prefix  to  liis  name  would  to  them 
have  seemed  as  ridiculous  as  does  to  us  the  Oriental  cus- 
tom of  showing  regard  to  a  guest  by  cramming  his  mouth 
with  some  supposed  dainty. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  explain,  in  this  connection,  the 
peculiar  system  of  family  nomenclature  I  found  to  pre- 
vail. The  family  name,  simple  before  marriage,  became 
compound  after.  Thus,  the  parents  of  Reva,  known  as 
Niata  Diotha  and  Hulmar  Edial  before  their  marriage, 
then  assumed  the  names  Niata  Diotha-Edial  and  Ilulmar 
Diotha-Edial  respectively.  Of  this  compound  family  name 
girls  assumed  only  the  part  derived  from  their  mother ; 
boys,  that  derived  from  their  father.  Thus,  Reva's  legal 
name  was  Reva  Diotha,  and  would  remain  so  till  marriage. 
Her  brother's  name,  again,  was  Olav  Edial. 

One  manifest  result  of  this  system  of  nomenclature  was, 
that  women  preserved  their  distinctive  family  names  from 
generation  to  generation,  as  only  men  do  at  present.  A 
girl  like  Reva,  indeed,  was  as  proud  to  trace  her  Ihieage 
through  a  long  line  of  Diothas  as  is  any  Guclph  or  Rohan 
to  trace  his  to  an  ancestor  dimly  discernible  in  the  twi- 
liglit  of  history. 

On  being  introduced  to  Reva  as  Ismar  Thiusen,  I  could 
plainly  perceive  that  the  name  was  not  that  of  a  stranger, 
but  seemingly  of  one  well  known  by  report,  at  least, 
though  never  before  seen.  She  turned  upon  me,  with  a 
look  of  frank  interest,  those  eyes  to  which  the  long,  curl- 
ing lashes  lent  an  indescribable  charm.  If  there  was  a 
trace  of  shyness,  it  was  rather  that  of  a  high-bred  lad, 
when  presented  to  a  personage  of  some  interest,  than 
the  ordinary  self-consciousness  of  a  girl. 


26  THE   DIOTTJA^;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

At  the  moment,  however,  there  was  no  time  for  con- 
versation. We  liad  reached  the  end  of  the  city  route; 
and,  amid  the  crowd  of  new  impressions,  I  found  ample 
occui)atiou  for  eye  and  thouglit.  Before  us,  across  a 
bi-oad,  open  space  of  smooth  concrete,  rose  the  grand 
terminus.  Toward  tliis  converged,  not  only  all  the  city 
railroads,  but  also  roads  from  every  part  of  the  Northern 
Ilemispliere.  Behring's  Strait,  long  since  bridged  over, 
no  longer  opposed  an  obstacle  to  the  passage  of  the  roll- 
ing car.  Lines  of  road  from  every  part  of  the  American 
continent  converged  toward  that  bi-idge,  and  carried  on 
conunuuication  between  ancient  and  famous  cities  having, 
as  yet,  neither  name  nor  existence.  From  the  spot  where 
I  stood  I  could  be  carried,  without  a  break,  to  any  part 
of  the  New  World  or  the  Old. 

The  terminus  of  such  a  traffic  was,  as  maj^  be  ima- 
gined, of  immense  extent,  the  concourse  prodigious.  When 
it  is  stated,  that  comparatively  few  people  remained  in  that 
great  and  crowded  city  overnight,  it  may  be  inferred  how 
great  was  the  multitude.  Yet  there  was  no  hurry,  no  con- 
fusion. Each  knew  where  to  go  :  every  thing  was  provided 
for.  The  immense  throng  was  as  courteous  and  self- 
possessed  as  the  guests  at  a  select  reception. 

Within  a  few  minutes  we  were  again  speeding  on  our 
way,  over  a  track  as  greatly  surpassing  in  smoothness 
those  of  the  present  as  these  do  the  roads  of  our  fore- 
fathers. The  carriages  differed,  in  many  respects,  from 
those  now  in  use.  For  one  thing,  they  were  much 
wider,  reminding  me  somewhat  of  the  saloon  of  a  river- 
boat.  Yet  these  enormous  cars  were  not  of  such  un- 
wieldy weight  as  might  have  been  inferred  from    their 


REV  A.  27 

dimensions.  Scientific  construction  and  excellent  mate- 
rial caused  the  metallic  f rameworlc  to  be  relatively  light ; 
while  tiie  upper  portion  was  almost  entirely  constructed  of 
ualin,  —  a  material  specially  adapted  for  such  purposes 
■from  its  strength,  lightness,  and  durability. 

The  wonderful  smoothness  of  the  motion  was  largely 
due  to  the  peculiar  construction  and  arrangement  of  the 
wheels.  These  ran  four  abreast,  the  inner  pair  on  a  track 
somewhat  lower  than  the  broad  metallic  plates  on  which 
the  outer  pair  ran.  Derailment  was  thus  rendered  impos- 
sible. Collision  from  behind  was  obviated  by  means  of 
an  automatic  telegraph,  which  kept  the  engineer  exactly 
informed  of  the  distance  ahead  of  the  preceding  train. 
Of  other  ingenious  contrivances  for  the  prevention  of 
accident  I  will  say  nothing,  lest  I  become  tedious  ;  nor 
will  I  mention  the  speed  attained,  lest  I  should  be  accused 
of  exaggeration. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


THE   COUNTRY. 


The  beautiful  Reva  had  entered  the  same  car  with  Utis 
and  nie.  In  spite  of  ni}'  admiration,  however,  it  was  with 
somewhat  mixed  feelings  that  I  contemplated  the  possi- 
bility of  a  conversation  with  her.  If  she  would  only  be 
content  to  do  all  the  talking  herself,  how  gladly  would  I 
listen.  But  should  she  refer  —  as  naturally  slie  would  — 
to  whence  I  came,  and  what  I  had  seen,  how  in  the  world 
was  I  to  reply?  What,  indeed,  could  I  say  at  all,  with- 
out seeming  to  have  taken  leave  of  my  senses?  A  wild 
idea  occurred  to  me.  I  might  assume  the  role  of  a  deaf- 
mute.  But  besides  placing  me  in  a  false  position,  from 
which  extrication  would  be  difficult,  the  role  was  not  a 
brilliant  one.  A  moment's  reflection,  too,  convinced  me 
that  it  was  too  late :  she  must  have  seen  me  conversing 
with  Utis. 

Even  should  she  defray  the  whole  expense  of  the  con- 
versation, leaving  me  at  libertj'  to  assume  the  rdle  of 
listener,  matters  would  be  but  slightly  bettered.  I  re- 
called with  disma}^  the  mauvais  quart  d'heure  I  once  had 
passed,  while  a  fair  Bostonian  demonstrated  to  me  the 
thesis  of  the  intercouvertibility  of  the  thingness  of  uoth- 
28 


THE  COUNTRY.  29 

ingness,  and  the  nothingness  of  thingness.  M}'  alarms, 
however,  were  in  vain.  Scarcely  had  we  entered  the  car 
when  Reva  perceived  a  bevy  of  girls  of  her  own  age. 
She  forsook  us  at  once,  with  a  smile  and  a  bow,  and  has- 
tened over  to  her  fair  friends,  where  presently  I  saw  her 
exhibiting,  to  an  apparently  appreciative  audience,  the 
piece  of  mechanism  to  me  such  a  mystery. 

Utis  became  engaged  in  conversation  with  some  friends  ; 
and  I  was  left,  for  a  while,  to  my  own  reflections.  It  might 
be  the  re-action  after  the  mental  strain  involved  in  the  re- 
ception of  so  many  novel  ideas,  but  seldom  have  I  felt  so 
intensely  depressed.  I  felt  humiliated  in  my  own  esteem. 
I,  the  college-trained,  the  much-travelled  man,  the  lead- 
ing spirit  of  my  set ;  I,  whose  knowledge  was  regarded 
by  a  fond  mother  and  admiring  sister  as  almost  encyclo- 
pediac,  —  I  to  shrink  from  the  conversation  of  a  young 
girl,  through  fear  of  betraying  my  gross  ignorance  ! 

My  meditations  were  broken  in  upon,  at  this  point,  by 
a  silvery  laugh  proceeding  from  the  corner  to  which  Reva 
had  betaken  herself.  Could  they  be  laughing  at  me? 
Had  she  discovered  my  ignorance,  even  through  my  veil 
of  silence,  and  was  showing  me  up  to  her  companions? 
A  furtive  glance  in  that  direction  re-assured  me.  They 
evidently  were  paying  no  attention  to  me.  Such  is  the 
inconsistency  of  man,  that,  for  a  moment,  I  actually  felt 
aggrieved  at  what  at  first  gave  me  such  relief,  —  Reva's 
discovery  of  more  interesting  companionship  than  mine. 

Just  then  the  train  slackened  its  pace.  Utis  and  I 
alighted  amid  a  crowd  of  passengers,  among  whom  I  lost 
sight  of  Reva ;  and  presently  we  two  were  left  alone  on 
the  platform,  giving  a  last  glance  to  the  train  as  it  van- 
ished round  a  distant  curve. 


30  THE   DIOTIIAS;   OR,   A  FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

"You  may  look  about  here  for  a  few  moments,"  said 
litis,  "but  do  not  wauder  far.  I  will  not  be  long  ab- 
sent." 

Left  to  myself,  I  first  turned  my  eyes  toward  the  river. 
The  broad  Hudson  glittered  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  now 
descending  toward  the  hills  on  the  farther  shore.  River- 
craft  of  strange  appearance  were  gliding  over  the  faintly 
rippled  surface,  while  from  them  strains  of  distant  music 
fell  with  a  caressing  cadence  upon  my  ear.  These  vessels 
were  evidently  set  in  motion  by  some  internal  machinery. 
Yet  no  hideous  smoke-stack  disfigured  their  decks,  no 
pitchy  train  of  smoke  hung  heavily  behind.  The  outline 
of  the  western  hills  seemed  familiar,  though  altered,  like 
the  lineaments  of  the  friend  we  meet  after  a  separation 
of  years. 

The  changes  were  greatest  In  the  form  of  the  Palisades, 
as  I  subsequently  had  occasion  to  observe.  The  lapse  of 
nearly  eighty  centuries  would  alone  have  produced  con- 
siderable alteration  in  their  outline,  but  the  ever-active 
hand  of  man  had  effected  far  more.  Instead  of  the  bold, 
precipitous  wall  now  dominating  the  river,  like  the  rock- 
built  ramparts  of  a  Titan  race,  gentle  slopes,  in  a  state 
of  high  cultivation,  extended  to  the  water's  edge.  Only 
isolated  fragments,  rising  at  intervals  in  solitar}- grandeur, 
lent  a  savage  grace  to  the  otherwise,  perhaps,  too  placid 
scene. 

What  chiefly  had  led  to  the  extensive  disappearance  of 
the  rock,  was  the  discovery  of  the  valuable  properties  of 
trap  as  the  basis  of  certain  fertilizers.  First  the  talus, 
now  so  extensive,  had  been  carried  away  for  that  pur- 
pose ;  when  that  was  exhausted,  the  rock  itself  had  been 


THE  COUNTRY.  31 

qnaiTied  and  ground  down  ;  till,  in  the  course  of  ages, 
further  discoveries  in  agricultural  chemistry  had  led  to 
the  disuse  of  trap  in  favor  of  other  rocks. 

The  light  being  unfavorable  for  the  view  in  that  direc- 
tion, I  soon  turned  away  from  the  river  in  order  to  exam- 
ine objects  nearer  at  hand.  Having  gained  some  insight 
into  the  changes  effected  by  time  in  the  city,  I  felt  some 
curiosity  to  discover  whether  corresponding  changes  had 
taken  place  in  the  slow-moving  country.  I  was  soon  to 
learn,  that  the  alterations  in  the  aspect  of  the  city  were 
but  sliglit  compared  with  the  utter  change  in  the  condi- 
tions of  rural  life.  Cities,  after  all,  remain  much  the 
same,  as  to  their  luain  characteristics,  in  all  ages.  The 
difference  between  Babylon  and  London  must  l^e  much 
less  than  the  difference  between  the  aspect  of  the  country 
around  London  as  it  appeared  to  Caesar  and  as  it  apiiears 
to  us  now.  Changes  of  equal  extent  had  been  wrought 
here. 

We  had  left  the  train  at  what  appeared  to  be  a  small 
village.  Yet  nowhere  was  to  be  seen  any  trace  of  that 
pervading  lack  of  neatness  and  finish  which,  in  our  day, 
usually  characterizes  the  country.  The  smooth  concrete 
of  the  platform  where  I  stood  was  continued  in  one  un- 
broken sweep  to  the  houses  seen  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  broad,  open  space  surrounding  the  station.  The  build- 
ings visible,  though  inferior  in  size  to  those  of  the  cit}', 
were  as  solidly  constructed,  and  of  similar  materials. 
Broad  verandas,  extending  completely  round  each  story, 
imparted,  by  their  broken  lines  and  deep  shadows,  a 
peculiarly  picturesque  character  to  the  architecture. 

My  attention  was   specially  drawn  toward  the  house- 


32  THE  DWTTIAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

tops.  On  these  could  be  seen  masses  of  dense  foliage, 
which,  seeming  to  overflow,  draped  the  battlement-shaped 
cornices.  This,  to  me,  novel  architectural  embellishment 
was,  as  I  afterwards  found,  in  general  use,  even  in  the 
city.  The  height  of  the  city  buildings  had  prevented  me 
from  noting  there  the  presence  of  these  elevated  gardens, 
an  account  of  which  1  must  defer  to  a  future  occasion. 
For  the  present  I  will  merely  state,  that,  whether  in  city 
or  country,  the  houses  are  so  solidly  constructed,  that,  on 
then-  flat  roofs  covered  with  malleable  glass,  they  are  able 
to  support  a  thickness  of  several  feet  of  soil.  On  this 
are  grown  flowers,  and  various  species  of  arborescent 
shrubs,  especially  such  as  afford  good  shade.  During 
the  warm  season  these  roof-gardens  are  a  favorite  resort ; 
since,  from  their  elevation,  they  are  compai'atively  free 
from  dust,  and  are  apt  to  catch  any  wandering  breeze. 
The  thick  I'oof,  too,  is  found  no  slight  advantage,  both  in 
summer  and  winter. 

Nor  was  that  on  the  house-tops  the  only  verdure  to  be 
seen.  A  double  row  of  magnificent  elms,  seemingly  of 
great  age,  surrounded  the  whole  square,  and  could  be 
seen  extending  along  the  streets,  as  far  as  these  were 
visible  from  m^'  point  of  view. 

I  was  in  the  midst  of  these  observations  when  litis  re- 
appeared. He  was  seated  on  a  vehicle,  which,  under  his 
guidance,  glided  noiselessly  as  a  canoe  over  the  smooth 
concrete.  I  now  remarked  for  the  first  time,  that  not  a 
wheel-track,  not  a  dent  of  iron-shod  hoofs,  was  to  be  seen 
on  its  surface.  It  seemed  never  to  be  trodden  by  aught 
heavier  than  the  foot  of  man.  It  now  also  occurred  to 
me,  that,  though  many  passengers  had  alighted  with  us, 


THE   COUNTRY.  33 

no  vehicles  of  any  kind  had  met  my  eye,  nor  had  I  heard 
any  sound  indicating  their  presence.  The  vehicle  in 
which  Utis  now  approaclied  was,  in  foi*m  and  construc- 
tion, not  unlike  a  two-seated  tricycle.  The  motive- 
power,  Iiowever,  was  not  supplied  by  the  muscles  of  the 
rider,  but  by  a  compact  electric  motor,  placed  beneath 
the  seat. 

First  starting  at  a  moderate  speed,  we  crossed  the  open 
square,  then  proceeded  at  a  rapidly  increasing  rate  down 
the  main  street  of  the  village.  A  clear  note,  like  that 
from  a  silver  horn,  and  emitted  from  an  instrument 
governed  by  a  key  inserted  in  the  tiller,  served  to  give 
warning  of  our  approach.  This  was  the  more  necessary, 
because,  the  entire  roadway  being  laid  with  a  concrete  as 
smooth  and  hard  as  stone,  our  curricle  —  as  I  may  freely 
render  the  native  appellation  of  our  vehicle  —  sped  on  its 
course  as  noiselessly  as  a  shadow. 

Like  all  the  main  roads,  this  roadway  was  divided  into 
three  nearly  equal  divisions  by  four  rows  of  trees.  The 
central,  somewhat  broader  division,  was  reserved  for  cur- 
ricles. The  outer  divisions  were  assigned  to  the  vehicles 
that  carried  on  the  heavy  traffic.  These  were  of  about 
the  dimensions  of  a  farmer's  wagon,  and  had  each  its  own 
motor,  capable  of  exerting  a  force  of  five  or  six  horse- 
power. Their  low  wheels  were  provided  with  exceedingly 
broad  tires,  so  as  not  to  injure  the  roadway.  About  six 
miles  an  hour  was  their  permitted  limit  of  speed,  and  they 
were  not  allowed  to  cross  the  central  road  without  spe- 
cial precautions. 

Human  life  was  not  held  so  cheap  as  now,  when  a 
brakeman  or  two  a  day  is  considered  a  slight  sacrifice  to 


S4  THE    DWrnAFI;    OR,   A    FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

economize  a  few  dollars.  If  any  one  by  negligence 
caused  the  loss  of  a  human  life,  his  life  was  placed  unre- 
servedly at  the  disposal  of  the  nearest  relatives  of  the 
slain.  It  was  in  their  option,  either  to  exact  life  for  life, 
or  to  accept  a  suitable  ransom. 

To  me,  a  life-member  of  the  Societ}-  for  the  Prevention 
of  Justice  to  Assassins,  and  accustomed  to  regard  the 
lives  of  homicides  alone  as  specially  sacred,  — so  sacred, 
indeed,  that  they  must  be  preserved  b}'  any  sacrifice  of 
time,  money,  or  justice,  —  the  above-mentioned  law 
seemed,  at  first,  simpl}'  barbarous.  Afterwards,  however, 
I  was  obliged  to  admit  that  the  law  worked  well  in  prac- 
tice, however  indefensible  in  theory.  Homicides  of  any 
kind  were  extremely  rare. 

When  we  had  fairly  emerged  into  the  country,  the  cur- 
ricle, gradually  increasing  its  speed,  moved  over  the 
smooth  track  like  a  shadow,  obedient  to  the  slightest 
touch  of  its  guide.  Steering  was  effected  much  as  in  the 
tricycle  of  the  present :  the  brakes  were  controlled  by 
the  feet.  The  forefinger,  by  means  of  a  lever  resembling 
the  brake  of  a  bicycle,  regulated  the  amount  of  force 
allowed  to  issue  from  the  reservoir. 

"How  do  3'ou  like  this?"  said  Utis,  when  our  speed 
rose  first  to  fifteen,  then  to  twenty,  miles  an  hour.  "  But 
now  brace  yourself!  "  he  exclaimed,  as  we  reached  the 
brow  of  a  long  declivit3\  A  glance,  to  assure  himself  of 
a  clear  roadway,  a  warning  blast  from  the  sounder,  and 
down  we  flew  with  a  velocity  that  reminded  me  of  my 
once-enough  experience  on  the  cow-catcher  of  a  locomo- 
tive. Such  was  the  momentum  imi)arted  to  the  vehicle, 
that  it  carried  us  far  u})  the  opposite  acclivity.     Here, 


THE   COUNTRY.  35 

somewhat  to  my  surprise,  my  conductor  reversed  our 
direction,  saying  in  explanation, — 

"As  we  are  not  pressed  for  time,  I  have  taken  you 
some  distance  past  our  turning,  so  as  to  give  you  a  fair 
idea  of  our  ordinary  means  of  locomotion." 

"  What  speed  can  these  machines  attain?  "  I  inquired, 
with  a  lively  recollection  of  our  recent  spin  down  the  slope 
we  were  now  leisurely  ascending. 

"On  a  level  they  easily  maintain  a  speed  of  twenty 
miles  an  hour :  on  a  long  descent,  they  are  never  allowed 
to  attain  the  velocity  they  might  reach,  for  obvious  con- 
siderations." 

At  this  moment  the  long,  clear  blast  of  the  sounder  was 
heard  from  behind.  After  a  brief  interval  a  single  rider 
on  his  curricle  dashed  past  us  at  a  rapid  rate  that  soon 
took  him  out  of  sight. 

"You  see  the  white  line  running  along  the  centre  of 
the  road,"  resumed  litis.  "  The  rule  of  the  road  requires 
that  line  to  be  kept  on  the  left,  except  when  passing  a 
vehicle  in  front.  Then  the  line  may  be  crossed,  provided 
the  way  on  that  side  is  clear." 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  the  only  vehicle  seen  was  that 
above  mentioned.  Especially  since  we  had  turned,  we 
continued  to  meet  them  at  short  intervals.  All,  evidently, 
were  on  their  way  home.  Wagons,  too,  rumbled  along 
steadily,  or  turned  off  on  the  road  leading  to  the  owner's 
abode.  Glimpses  I  caught  of  them  between  the  trees,  as 
they  moved  along  on  the  roads  parallel  with  ours,  made 
me  wish  for  a  nearer  view.  But  for  their  dress,  the  driv- 
ers, seated  in  front  on  their  saddle-shaped  seats,  would 
have  strongly  reminded  me  of  brakesmen  on  wagons  de- 


3G  THE  DTOTHAS;   OR,   A   FAR   LOOK  ATI  FAD. 

scending  an  incline,  a  resemblance  furthered  ])y  the  shape 
of  tlie  tiller  by  which  they  guided  their  machines.  liut 
here  the  strange  spectacle  was  to  be  seen  of  wagons  run- 
ning up  acclivities  without  any  visible  motive-power. 

A  gesture  from  one  of  these  drivers  made  Utis  turn  his 
curricle  aside  between  two  trees,  —  the  usual  halting-place. 
After  exchanging  a  few  words  with  the  stranger,  a  man 
of  noble  appearance,  with  grizzled  though  abundant  locks, 
Utis  introduced  him  to  me  as  his  uncle.  He  greeted  me 
with  a  cordiality  quite  unlooked  for  by  me  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. His  bearing,  indeed,  was  that  of  an  old 
family  friend.  What  struck  me  as  peculiar  was  the  look 
of  troubled  scrutiny  I  detected  when  his  eyes  were  turned 
upon  me,  as  if  he  were  in  some  anxiety  on  my  account. 
So  strong  was  this  impression,  that  I  might  have  made 
some  remark  on  the  subject,  had  not  Utis  begun  to  speak 
as  soon  as  we  resumed  our  journey. 

"You  now  have  seen  our  country-roads,"  was  his  first 
remark,  "  and  all  our  means  of  conveyance." 

"  Have  you  no  horses,  then?  "  said  I. 

"None,"  was  the  replj',  "except  in  zoological  collec- 
tions." 

"How,  then,"  said  I,  "are  agricultural  operations 
carried  on?  " 

"  By  means  of  caloric  enghies,  worked  by  the  regulated 
escape  of  highly  condensed  gases.  They  are  much  used 
for  such  purposes,  being  somewhat  more  economical  than 
electric  power.  Seated  on  a  machine  of  appropriate  con- 
struction, the  farmer  ploughs,  sows,  reaps,  performs,  in 
fine,  all  the  labor  of  the  farm,  without  more  muscular 
effort  than  is  required  for  guidance.     Agriculture  is  now 


THE   COUNTRY.  37 

a  matter  of  brain-work,  fully  as  much  as  the  labors  of  the 
physician  or  analyst  in  your  days." 

Meanwhile  we  had  turned  into  a  by-road,  narrower, 
indeed,  than  that  by  which  we  had  travelled  so  far,  but 
with  quite  as  smooth  a  surface,  and  bordered  by  fine  trees. 
At  frequent  intervals,  —  so  frequent,  indeed,  as  to  suggest 
the  idea  of  a  populous  suburban  district,  —  pathways 
branched  off,  leading  to  villa-like  abodes  embosomed  amid 
trees  of  secular  age.  Yet  another  turn,  this  time  into  a 
pathway  little  more  than  wide  enough  for  the  passage  of 
our  vehicle,  and  we  come  to  a  halt  beneath  a  porch  pro- 
jecting from  the  spacious  veranda  that  surrounded  the 
house. 

The  appellation  veranda  must  not  suggest  a  flimsy 
structure  of  wood,  constructed  in  a  style  of  art  that  well 
matches  the  shabby  material.  Here  slender  moresque 
columns  supported  a  light  entablature  of  the  same  general 
style.  On  this,  again,  was  reared  a  similar  structure,  the 
colonnade  of  the  second  story  being  of  somewhat  less 
width  than  that  below.  A  parapet  of  open,  carved  work, 
surmounting  the  whole,  enclosed  the  universal  flat  roof. 
All  was  of  stone,  which,  though  in  perfect  repair,  pre- 
sented marks  of  great  antiquity. 

On  a  mat  near  the  door  lay  a  magnificent  Persian  cat, 
which  scarcely  deigned  to  honor  us  with  a  glance  from 
her  sleepy  eyes.  But  not  so  a  small  dog  of  breed  unknown 
to  me.  At  sight  of  his  master  he  gave  vent  to  a  clamor- 
ous demonstration  of  joy  that  manifestly  rendered  need- 
less any  other  announcement  of  our  arrival. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE   HOME    OF  UTIS. 


"This  is  my  home,"  said  Utis,  as  we  alighted,  "  and 
yours,  too,  till  3'ou  weary  of  it." 

At  the  souud  of  the  dog's  bark,  two  lovely  children 
came  rushing  forth  to  welcome  their  father.  The  girl  of 
about  twelve  summers,  and  tlie  eight- j'ear-old  bo}',  were 
clad  in  costumes  closely  resembling  those  of  their  elders. 
To  the  boy  was  intrusted  the  task  of  wheeling  the  cur- 
ricle to  its  quarters.  The  girl  took  charge  of  the  packages 
my  friend  had  brought  from  the  city. 

Two  ladies  met  us  as  we  entered  the  house.  These 
were  my  host's  wife  and  her  sister.  The  latter  was  en- 
gaged, as  I  could  tell  by  the  arrangement  of  her  hair. 
The  ladies,  introduced  to  me  as  Ulmene  and  lalma,  re- 
ceived me  with  cordiality  as  a  kinsman  for  some  time 
expected,  but  seen  for  the  first  time. 

Some  chance  expressions  let  fall  by  them  informed  me 
that  I  was  supposed  to  have  arrived  that  da}'  by  the  Aus- 
tralian mail-ship ;  and,  strangest  of  all,  I  received  the 
information  that  my  baggage  had  already  arrived,  and 
awaited  me  in  my  room.  Somewhat  bewildered  by  this 
astounding  information,  I  followed  m}'  host  to  the  apart- 
36 


THE  nOME   OF   UTTS.  39 

ment  assigned  me.  There,  sure  enough,  were  two  sizable 
portmanteaus.  Strong  they  were,  but  travel-stained,  and 
bearing  those  unmistakable  marks  by  which  we  recognize 
the  veterans  of  their  kind  that  have  passed  through  the 
hands  and  seen  the  cities  of  many-languaged  men.  Upon 
the  sides  was  marked,  in  the  plain  lettering  of  the  period, 
the  name,  — 

ISMAR   THIUSEN, 

under  which  I  had  now  been  introduced  to  a  number  of 
persons.  That  might  pass ;  but  to  take  possession  of  a 
stranger's  baggage,  as  well  as  of  his  name,  was  too  much. 
When,  therefore,  Utis,  seeing  me  stand  gazing  stupidly 
at  the  trunks,  suggested  my  opening  them  in  order  to 
dress  for  dinner,  I  decidedly  objected. 

"  This  baggage  does  not  belong  to  me.  Nor,  if  it  did," 
I  added,  as  a  clincher,  "  have  I  the  means  of  opening 
those  strong  locks." 

"  Perhaps  3'ou  will  find  the  means  in  there,"  said  Utis, 
smiling  as  if  at  my  forgetf  ulness,  and  pointing  to  a  pocket 
in  my  tunic. 

It  was  almost  without  surprise  that  I  actuall}^  did  pro- 
duce a  pocket-book  from  that  hitherto  unnoticed  recepta- 
cle. This  pocket-book  contained,  among  many  other 
things,  a  key  of  peculiar  form  ;  and  this  key,  upon  trial, 
was  found  to  open  the  trunk.  My  host,  seeing  me  still 
hesitate,  unpacked  some  of  the  clothing,  shook  it  out,  and 
placed  it  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  saying  as  he  did  so,  — 

"As  there  are  no  servants,  every  family  now  does  its 
own  work,  each  member,  from  infancy,  learning  to  take 
a  due  share.  This  is  the  suit  you  will  put  on  after  bath- 
ing," he  continued,  while  he  laid  out  some  underclothing, 


40  THE   D/OTHAF!;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

and  au  outer  suit  of  much  the  same  st3'le  as  that  I  had  on, 
but  of  fiuer  material  and  richer  coloring.  "Here  is  the 
bath,"  he  next  said,  leading  to  where  a  low  partition  cut 
off  aI)out  a  third  of  tlie  apartment. 

The  bath  did  not  greatly  differ,  either  in  size  or  shape, 
from  tliose  now  in  use,  except  that  the  glass  of  which  it, 
with  all  its  fittings  and  accessories,  was  composed,  im- 
parted an  aspect  of  most  Inviting  puritj'.  He  turned  on 
the  water,  pointed  out  the  rose  of  the  shower-bath,  prom- 
ising to  return  in  twenty  minutes. 

"  We  consider  twenty  minutes  as  amply  sufficient  for  a 
man's  toilet,  including  bath,  rubbing  dry,  and  putting  on 
the  simple  costume  we  wear." 

Braced  and  invigorated  by  the  bath,  I  hastened  to  don 
the  simple  evening  suit.  While  doing  so,  I  could  not  but 
appreciate  the  good  sense  that  had  adopted  a  costume  so 
rational.  Both  comfortable  and  elegant,  it  required  little 
more  than  two  miuutes  for  its  putting  on,  instead  of  the 
weary  and  sometimes  exasperating  time  demanded  for 
the  due  assumption  of  our  tasteless  garb,  the  joint  inven- 
tion of  brainless  idlers,  and  their  well-matched  purvc3'ors. 

I  soon  became  aware  of  a  want.  Was  there  no  mirror? 
I  looked  round  me.  The  room  was  of  moderate  size,  had 
polished  floor  and  walls,  high  ceiling,  and  a  door-window 
opening  on  the  upper  veranda.  It  was  furnished  with 
severe  simplicity.  A  silken  hammock  suspended  in  one 
corner,  a  chair,  a  small  table,  and  a  large  wardrobe  of 
%ialin,  comprised  the  entire  list  of  movables.  Evidently 
a  place  for  sleep  only.  Next  I  perceived  a  door.  Passing 
through  it,  I  found  myself  in  what  was  evidently  the  sit- 
ting-room, or  study,  to  which  the  bedroom  was  an  append- 


THE  nOME  OF   UTIS.  41 

age.  "Walls  and  ceiling  were  neatly  panelled  in  maple  of 
different  colors.  Two  windows  opening  on  the  veranda 
took  up  a  large  part  of  two  sides  of  the  apartment.  Be- 
sides chairs,  a  table,  book-case,  and  other  articles  whose 
nature  I  readil}'  recognized,  there  were  many  the  purpose 
of  which  I  could  only  guess. 

That  object  resembling  a  small  harmonium  was  an 
electric  tach^'graph,  b}'  which  I  afterwards  learned  to 
commit  my  tliouglits  to  paper  with  the  rapidity  of  a  short- 
hand writer.  Those  other  objects  were,  as  I  correctly 
guessed,  a  telephone  and  a  telegraph  apparatus.  In 
another  corner  was  a  calculating-machine,  an  instrument 
in  general  use.  Opposite  the  window  hung  what  I  sought, 
—  a  mirror,  —  apparently  placed  there  rather  for  ornament 
than  for  use.  A  hasty  survey  of  my  person  proved  sat- 
isfactory. Accordingly,  when  my  host  appeared,  to  con- 
duct me  to  the  dining-room,  I  followed  without  diffidence. 

The  dining-room  was  decorated  in  much  the  same  style 
as  the  apartment  I  have  described  above,  with  the  impor- 
tant addition  of  a  few  oil-paintings  of  some  age  and  great 
merit,  but  of  a  school  of  art  entirely  strange  to  me.  We 
took  our  seats  at  a  round  table,  the  centre  of  which  re- 
sembled a  parterre,  so  copiousl}^  was  it  adorned  with 
flowers  of  various  kinds,  mostly  unknown  to  me.  In  the 
midst  of  the  flowers  was  a  stand  containing  carafes  of 
water,  and  what,  from  the  colors,  I  thought  might  be 
wine,  but  proved  to  be  sherbets. 

After  the  utterance  of  a  short  prayer  by  the  head  of 
the  household,  he  pressed  on  a  small  knob  before  him. 
The  parterre  in  the  centre  of  the  table  rose  slowly  before 
my  eyes,  in  obedience  to  some  concealed  mechanism,  and 


42  THE    DTOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

proved  to  be  the  top  of  a  sort  of  dumb-waiter.  I  imi- 
tated the  rest  by  taking  from  the  compartment  before  me 
a  snowy  napkin,  a  roll,  and  also  several  forks  and  spoons. 
These  were  not  of  silver,  but  —  imagine  my  surprise  — 
of  solid  gold.  Ulmene  produced,  besides,  from  her  com- 
partment, a  tureen  and  set  of  plates.  When  she  had 
placed  these  things  before  her,  the  cehin^  as  the  dumb- 
waiter was  called,  immediately  descended  to  its  former 
position ;  and  the  lady  helped  us  to  some  excellent 
2)otage.  That  disposed  of,  the  cebin  again  rose,  tureen 
and  plates  were  replaced  in  their  receptacle,  arid  Utis  pro- 
duced from  his  compartment  a  covered  dish  and  plates. 
Tliis  proved  to  be  fish.  A  third  rise  of  the  cebin,  to  a 
greater  height  than  before,  yielded  another  course,  con- 
sisting of  exquisitely  cooked  vegetables,  comjwtes,  and  a 
roast,  but  from  what  animal  I  was  not  able  to  decide. 
In  color,  flavor,  and  tenderness,  it  was  not  unlike  venison 
at  its  best.  What  puzzled  me  was  the  peculiar  shape  in 
which  it  came  to  table,  and  the  fact  that  it  was  not  carved, 
but  helped  with  an  instrument  somewhat  resembling  a  fish- 
slice. 

I  may  here  mention,  in  passing,  that  knives  were  never 
used  at  table,  all  viands  being  so  well  cooked  as  to  re- 
quire no  such  aid  for  their  division.  The  sight  of  a  steel 
.  blade  at  table  would  have  there  produced  as  great  a  sen- 
sation as  would,  among  us,  the  spectacle  of  a  gallant 
knight  drawing  his  trusty  dagger  to  carve  for  self  and 
lady.  I  remarked  also  the  comparatively  small  amount 
of  each  dish  that  appeared  at  table.  There  was  enough, 
and  no  more.  Each  convive,  too, — and  I  was  careful  to 
imitate  them,  —  made  a  point  not  to  leave  any  thing  on 


THE   nOME   OF   UTIS.  43 

the  plate.  This,  it  appears,  was  a  point  of  etiquette,  and, 
like  most  such  points,  was  founded  upon  general  conven- 
ience. In  regard  to  the  apparent  economy  of  food,  I 
received  from  Utis,  in  a  subsequent  conversation,  the 
following  explanation. 

"  You  know  enough  of  the  culinary  art  to  see  that  the 
due  preparation  of  such  a  dinner  as  we  have  every  day 
would  absorb  fully  the  time  and  energies  of  one  or  more 
persons  during  a  large  part  of  the  day,  besides  eutailiug 
a  great  waste  of  material.  All  cooking,  therefore,  is 
done  on  the  co-operative  plan.  Aliout  the  centre  of  this 
district  is  a  building,  carefully  fitted  up  with  every  appli- 
ance and  convenience  for  the  preparation  of  food  that 
science  or  experience  has  suggested. 

"Bills  of  fare  for  each  day  are  carefully  drawn  up,  for 
some  time  in  advance,  by  a  special  committee.  The  pre- 
scribed dishes  are  prepared  with  care.  You  have  had 
opportunity  to  judge  how  skilfully  and  scientifically  our 
artists  can  work.  For  we  justly  regard  the  skilful  prep- 
aration of  food  as  a  fine  art,  contributing  in  no  small 
degree  to  the  health  and  happiness  of  our  race.  Waste 
of  all  kinds  our  training  causes  us  to  shrink  from  with  a 
dislike  almost  instinctive.  The  telephone  sends  in  the 
orders  of  each  household  on  the  preceding  evening,  so  that 
the  quantity  required  of  each  dish  can  be  estimated  with 
scientific  exactitude. 

"  The  culinary  essentials  of  o\\\y  two  meals  are  pro- 
vided. The  slight  noon  refection  involves  no  cooking. 
Punctually  at  the  appointed  hour  eacli  day,  dinner-trains 
leave  the  culinary  depot  to  carry  to  each  household  the 
meal  ordered  on  the  preceding  day.     At  the  well-known 


44  THE  DIOTIIAS;   OR,   A  FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

signal,  a  member  of  the  household  receives  at  the  gate  the 
dinner-case,  ingeniously  contrived  for  carrying,  without 
loss  of  heat,  the  enclosed  meal.  Of  each  dish  we  order 
only  a  carefully  estimated  amount.  This  is  partly  from 
dislike  of  waste,  but  still  more  in  order  to  avoid  the  con- 
stant tendency  to  excess  in  the  use  of  rich  foods.  This 
we  specially  avoid,  though  permitting  the  appetite  more 
freedom  in  the  use  of  such  things  as  bread,  fruit,  etc." 

To  return  to  the  dinner,  the  last  course  comprised 
fruits,  especially  strawberries  of  delicious  flavor.  Grapes 
were  always  present,  —  a  fruit  tliat  their  science  enables 
them  to  keep  in  perfection  tliroughout  tlie  year. 

The  meal,  enjoyed  with  much  deliberation,  was  enliv- 
ened by  such  conversation  as  might  be  expected  among 
people  of  cultivation  and  high  breeding.  Their  manners, 
though  simple  and  unaffected,  were  yet  controlled  by  a 
well-defined  system  of  etiquette,  if  I  may  so  term  it, 
which  I  found  universally  prevalent.  "  Etiquette  is  to 
true  politeness,"  said  their  proverb,  "what  the  rind  is 
to  the  fruit."  In  putting  into  practice  the  principle  con- 
tained in  this  saj'ing,  they  were  careful  to  avoid  extremes. 
On  the  one  hand,  the  rind  was  not  made  too  heavy  and 
unelastic  for  the  purpose  it  was  intended  to  subserve ; 
yet  just  as  the  envelopes  of  some  fruits  are  in  themselves 
beautiful,  so  they  invested  many  acts  of  their  ceremonial 
politeness  with  a  grace  that  would  not  willingly  be 
spared. 

It  was  not  customary,  I  remarked,  for  children  to  ad- 
dress their  elders  at  table  unless  in  repl}'.  At  the  same 
time,  it  was  equally  incumbent  on  the  elders  not  to  over- 
look the  children,  but  to  draw  them  into  conversation  by 


THE  no  ME   OF   UTIS.  45 

suitable  questions.  The  remarks  of  the  young,  thus 
drawn  out,  were  listened  to  witli  as  serious  attention  as 
tlie  words  of  the  wisest.  Their  opinions,  if  not  coincided 
in,  were  met,  not  by  ridicule,  but  by  a  few  words  of  com- 
ment intended  less  to  convey  the  elder's  opinion  than  to 
suggest  the  correct  hue  of  thought.  Conversation  tlius 
became  an  important,  if  not  the  most  important,  means 
of  education,  in  so  far  as  the  training  of  the  moral  per- 
ceptions, and  the  exercise  of  the  judgment,  is  of  greater 
importance  than  the  mere  imparting  of  information. 

If  required  to  state  the  pervading  characteristic  of  the 
manners  of  these  people,  I  should  say  self-control.  In 
proportion  as  man  had  become  master  of  nature,  it  had 
become  needful  to  become  master  of  himself.  Calm  self- 
respect  was  there,  such  as  might  be  expected  in  a  class 
conscious  of  high  powers,  and  knowing  no  superior: 
arrogance  was  wanting,  that  in  which  it  originates  being 
wanting,  —  a  supposed  inferior  class  or  classes. 

I  have  already  adverted  to  the  general  prevalence  of 
personal  beauty  among  the  population.  To  this  rule  the 
hostess  and  her  sister  were  no  exceptions.  Ulmene, 
though  the  mother  of  a  twelve-year-old  girl,  and,  as  I 
learned,  in  her  thirty-fourth  year,  was  in  the  pride  of  her 
beauty.  She  differed  from  her  sister,  some  twelve  years 
younger,  chiefly  in  the  Juno-like  dignity  befitting  the 
mother  of  two  cliildren. 

lalma  was  soon  to  be  a  bride,  —  as  soon,  indeed,  as  she 
should  reach  the  legal  age, —twenty-three.  She  was 
now  receiving  from  her  sister  some  final  instruction  in  the 
practical  details  of  liousekceping.  Though  within  a  lew 
weeks  of  her  wedding-day,  she  was  entirely  free  from  the 


46  THE  DTOTHAS;   OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

petty  cares  now  attending  a  position  such  as  hers.  The 
delights  and  worries  associated  with  tlie  words  milliner 
and  shopping  were  to  her  equally  unknown.  Her  simple 
trousseau,  though  comprising  nearly  all  the  clothing  she 
would  require  during  the  rest  of  her  life,  had  long  since 
been  prepared  by  her  own  fair  hands.  The  collection  of 
china,  plate,  and  similar  articles  comprised  in  the  custom- 
ary contribution  of  the  bride  to  the  common  stock,  had 
been  a  labor  of  love  for  her  mother,  ever  since  her  daugh- 
ter's birth,  and  had  grown  at  each  recurring  anniversary. 
Not  an  article  but  was  associated  with  some  happy  mem- 
ory of  her  girlhood.  By  a  pretty  custom,  each  girl-friend 
contributed  a  piece  of  porcelain  decorated  by  her  own 
hands.  The  execution,  of  course,  was  very  unequal  in 
merit ;  but  none  fell  below  a  fair  standard.  Drawing  was 
practised  by  all  from  infancy,  with  even  greater  assiduity 
than  writing ;  since  there  were  many  substitutes  for  the 
latter.  Every  stroke,  therefore,  was  as  characteristic  of 
the  donor  as  are  to  us  the  letters  of  a  familiar  hand- 
writing. 

As  might,  therefore,  be  expected,  the  most  inferior, 
from  an  artistic  point  of  view,  was  by  no  means  the  piece 
least  prized.  Once,  when  Ulraene  was  displaying  to  me 
her  treasures,  my  eye  was  caught  by  a  small  case,  which 
I  supposed  must  contain  some  especially'  fine  specimen. 
On  pressing  the  spring,  I  found  displayed  within  merely 
a  small  breakfast-plate.  The  decoration  —  but  partly 
finished  —  reminded  me,  in  its  style,  of  a  child's  first 
laborious  attempt  at  a  letter.  I  looked  up  to  make  in- 
quiry ;  but,  instead,  I  reverently  closed  the  case,  and 
silently  replaced  it  whence  I  had  taken  it.     Man  may  do 


THE  nOME   OF   UTTFi.  47 

mnoh  to  relieve  lumself  from  the  grosser  evils  of  life,  but 
that  shadow  will  uever  pass  from  earth. 

Of  jeweller}',  except  a  few  pins  and  clasps  of  the  sim- 
plest form,  lalma  had  none.  The  notion  of  loading  her 
person  with  pieces  of  metal  or  with  glittering  stones  would 
have  been  as  repugnant  to  her  taste  as  tattooing,  or  the 
wearing  of  a  nose-ring.  A  wreath,  a  few  flowers  in  her 
hair,  completed  her  costume  for  dinner  or  breakfast. 

Gold,  indeed,  was  far  from  being  relativel}'  so  costly  as 
at  present,  and  was  employed  solely  for  purposes  in  which 
its  utility  was  manifest.  Its  relative  value  might  be  about 
that  of  silver  among  us.  The  art  of  crystallizing  gems 
had  long  been  brought  to  perfection.  The  diamond,  the 
ruby,  in  fine,  every  kind  of  precious  stone  known  to  us,  and 
many  we  do  not  know,  could  be  produced,  of  a  size  and 
beauty  that  would  astonish  the  lapidaries  of  to-day.  But 
facility  of  attainment  and  value  are  ever  in  inverse  pro- 
portion. These  gems,  so  precious  among  us,  were  valued 
only  for  the  few  practical  uses  to  which  they  were  appli- 
cable. The  wearer  of  the  most  costly  diamondpa?7»-(?  ever 
produced  would,  among  these  people,  have  been  regarded 
with  the  same  good-natured  contempt  excited  in  us  by  the 
gaudy  finery  of  the  savage  owner  of  some  strings  of 
bright-colored  beads. 

lalma  took  matters  so  quietly,  seemed  so  slightly  agi- 
tated by  the  closely  approaching  change  in  her  condition, 
that  I  came  to  the  entirely  wrong  conclusion,  that  she 
cared  but  little  for  her  betrothed  husband,  that  hers 
was  the  calm  of  indifference.  He  was  in  a  distant  part  of 
the  world,  had  been  absent  nearly  a  year.  Yet  she  would 
refer  to  him  with  as  little  hesitation,  would  utter  his  name 


48  THE   DIOTHA^;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

as  calmly,  as  if  he  were  only  a  brother  soon  to  i-eturn  from 
college.  By  the  merest  chance,  however,  I  happened  to 
be  a  witness  of  their  meeting  after  his  retnvn.  Their 
manner  was  culm  enough  outwardly.  But  I  read  in  their 
eyes  what  was  to  me  a  revelation  of  how  much  of  long- 
repressed  feeling  can  be  expressed  in  one  look,  —  trust,  joy, 
love,  beyond  the  power  of  words. 

During  the  dinner  my  attention  had  been  strongly  at- 
tracted by  an  oil-painting  that  hung  opposite  me.  It  rep- 
resented a  beautiful  girl  standing  on  the  verge  of  a  cliff. 
With  one  hand  she  strove  to  restrain  the  disorder  of  her 
garments,  blown  by  a  furious  gale.  In  the  other  she  held 
on  high  a  flaming  torch,  which  cast  a  weird  light  upon  her 
long  auburn  tresses  streaming  in  the  wind,  and  on  a  coun- 
tenance where  strangely  blended  love,  terror,  and  resolu- 
tion, mastering  both  terror  and  phj'sical  fatigue.  The 
painting  was  evidentl}'  a  masterpiece,  or,  at  least,  an 
excellent  copy.  Catching  the  eye  of  Esna,  my  host's 
daughter,  I  made  inquiry  as  to  the  subject  of  the  piece. 

"Why,  that  is  Esua  Diotha,"  replied  tlie  girl,  whom 
the  question  seemed,  for  some  reason,  greatly  to  surprise. 

"Who,  then,  was  Esna  Diotha?"  I  inquired  again, 
somewhat  interested  by  the  sound  of  the  second  name,  and 
amused  at  the  confidence  with  which  the  youthful  mind 
assumes  its  knowledge  to  be  universal  property. 

It  is  a  strong  testimony  to  the  fine  manners  of  those  with 
whom  I  was  sitting  at  table,  that,  at  the  moment  when  I 
put  this  question,  I  felt  as  much  at  home  as  if  I  had  been 
an  inmate  of  the  house  for  years.  INIy  feeling  was  as  if 
dining  with  old  friends  in  a  strange  laud.  The  surround- 
ings are  unwonted,  yet  soon  cease  to  affect  cue.     I  was 


THE  HOME   OF   UTIB.  49 

all  the  more  impressed,  therefore,  by  the  sensation  pro- 
duced by  those  careless  words  of  mine. 

Esiia,  too  young  as  yet  to  have  her  emotions  completely 
under  control,  gazed  at  me  in  open-eyed  astonishment. 
The  fair  lalma  kept  her  eye  fixed  upon  her  plate,  as  if  she 
feared  they  might  reveal  her  thought ;  while  a  faint  flush 
mantled  in  her  cheeks.  Ulmene  telegraphed  to  her  hus- 
band a  look  that  seemed  to  say,  — 

"Is  it  really  so  bad  as  that?  " 

What  had  happened  was,  indeed,  very  much  as  if, 
among  us,  a  man  of  supposed  liberal  education  should 
frankly  confess  his  total  lack  of  any  mental  associations 
with  the  names  Dido,  Caesar,  or  Napoleon.  As  for  Utis, 
he  said  quietly,  — 

"  You  see,  Esna,  3'our  cousin  Ismar  wishes  to  hear  the 
story  of  your  famous  namesake.  Show  him  how  well  you 
know  it." 

At  this  command,  without  any  attempt  at  excuse,  or 
display  of  childish  shyness,  the  girl  stood  forth,  and  related 
with  a  dramatic  power,  that  showed  how  her  heart  went 
with  it,  a  simple  and  ancient  story  of  love  and  self-devo- 
tion. How  a  maiden  had  served  her  country,  and  saved 
many  lives,  by  the  imminent  risk  of  her  own  life,  and  of 
a  life  dearer  than  her  own.  So  well  was  the  story  told, 
that  I  could  compliment  her  in  all  sincerity. 

"You  should  hear  cousin  Reva,  then,"  said  Esna. 
"  All  we  Diothas  know  that  story  well." 

"  So  Reva  is  your  cousin, — first  or  second?  "  said  I 
inquiringly. 

"  She  is  my  first  cousin,  and  your  second,"  replied  the 
child. 


50  THE  DIOTHAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

"How  do  you  make  out  that?"  I  went  on,  willing  to 
know  more,  yet  in(iuiring  rather  as  if  to  test  the  aeeuracy 
of  her  information  than  to  gain  any. 

"■  Semna  Diotha,  your  grandmother,  and  Asta  Diotha, 
my  grandmother  and  Keva's,  were  sisters." 

"■Well?  "  said  I  when  she  paused. 

"  So  your  mother  and  ours  are  first  cousins,  whieh 
makes  you  our  second  cousin." 

From  the  silent  acquiescence  of  the  elders,  I  saw  that 
this  was  accepted  as  a  correct  statement  of  our  relation- 
ship. I  accepted  without  comment  the  crowd  of  newly 
acquired  relatives.  I  had  ceased  to  wonder  at  any  thing. 
There  was  an  undefined  pleasure,  too,  iu  finding  myself 
related,  but  not  too  nearly,  to  the  beautiful  Keva.  I 
might  have  been  proved  her  brother  or  grandfather,  so 
I  felt  reason  to  be  thankful. 

I  might  have  tried  to  gain  indirectly  some  further  in- 
formation in  regard  to  my  relatives,  but  that  we  now  rose 
from  table.  A  small  cup  of  black  coffee  —  better  I  had 
never  tasted  —  was  the  only  stimulant  of  which  we  had 
partaken.  The  handsome  carafes  in  the  centre  of  the 
table  contained,  not  wine,  but  iced  sherbets. 

"The  habitual  use  of  stimulants,"  said  Utis  in  the 
course  of  a  subsequent  conversation  on  the  subject,  "has 
been  proved  by  experience  to  be  dangerous,  if  not  abso- 
hitely  hurtful,  to  the  young  and  vigorous.  Some  wine  is 
used,  indeed,  but  only  by  persons  above  seventy.  In 
younger  years,  wine  is  not  only  distasteful  to  our  healthy 
and  vigorous  organizations,  but  is  especiall}'  shunned  on 
account  of  its  interference  with  that  clearness  of  intel- 
lect from  which  we  derive  our  highest  enjoyment.     Tea 


THE  HOME  OF   UTIS.  51 

and  coflfee,  as  well  as  some  other  infusions,  are  used,  as 
you  see,  but  in  great  moderation." 

It  was  growing  dark  when  we  rose  from  table.  A  mere 
turn  to  a  handle,  and  the  apartment  was  illuminated  b}'  a 
flood  of  soft  electric  light,  affording  light  for  the  task 
now  before  us.  All  set  to  work,  each  takiug  an  allotted 
part  in  setting  things  to  rights.  One  remained  to  sweep 
the  table-cloth  and  clear  the  floor  from  crumbs.  The  rest 
of  us  descended  to  an  apartment  beneath  the  dining- 
room,  to  which  the  cebin  descended.  Ever}'  thing  was 
removed  from  the  compartments  of  that  apparatus,  and 
was  either  washed  or  dusted :  all,  in  fine,  was  put  in 
readiness  for  the  morning  meal,  except,  of  course,  the 
dishes  to  come  from  the  culinary  depot.  All  employing 
themselves  deftly  and  intelligently,  every  thing  was  iu 
order  in  about  twenty  minutes. 

I,  as  a  matter  of  course,  could  not  stand  idly  by  when 
all  were  so  busy.  But  my  attempts  at  assistance  were  so 
clumsy  as  to  call  forth,  on  one  occasion,  a  merry  peal  of 
laughter  from  lalma,  who  must  have  thought  my  home- 
training  somewhat  deficient.  Seeing  me  take  it  in  good 
part,  —  her  laugh,  indeed,  was  irresistibly  contagious  — 
we  all  laughed ;  and  the  work  went  on  merrily.  lalma 
and  I  were  thenceforth  very  good  friends. 

This  short  interlude  over,  to  my  mind  much  more 
enjoyable  than  the  corresponding  period  after  our  dinners, 
we  betook  ourselves  to  the  parlor,  without  heaviness,  and 
without  anxiety  in  regard  to  digestion. 

In  the  parlor  prevailed  the  same  general  style  of  orna- 
ment and  furnishing  as  in  the  apartments  already  de- 
scribed, the  same  simple  elegance,  the  same  harmony  of 


52  THE  DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

color  and  design.  As  in  the  dining-room,  one  side  of  the 
apartment  was  entirely  thrown  open ;  so  that  it  formed, 
as  it  were,  a  mere  recess  from  the  veranda.  Guided  by 
the  insight  already  acquired,  I  could  make  a  fair  guess 
at  the  purpose  of  most  of  the  furniture ;  though  its 
appearance  was,  in  most  cases,  extremely  diverse  from 
that  of  corresponding  objects  in  our  time.  A  chessboard 
alone  seemed  to  greet  me  as  an  old  familiar  friend.  That, 
at  least,  was  not  affected  by  the  mutations  of  so  many 
centuries.  The  pieces  were  so  slightly  altered  in  form  as 
to  be  readily  identified. 

Esna,  seeing  me  thus  employed,  good-naturedly  chal- 
lenged me.  I  accepted,  not  unwilling  to  discover  what 
changes,  if  any,  had  taken  place  in  the  laws  of  the  game. 
These  I  found  to  be  of  such  minor  importance  as  rarely 
to  cause  me  embarrassment.  My  youthful  antagonist 
opened  with  the  Muzio  Gambit,  and  played  a  surprisingly 
good  game  for  her  years.  She  was  no  match,  however, 
for  one  of  the  best  players  of  the  Fhilidor.  She  looked 
up  in  surprise  after  stud}  ing  my  tenth  move,  and  was 
mated  after  a  few  more. 

"lalma!"  she  exclaimed  to  her  aunt,  who  happened 
to  be  passing,  "  Ismar  plays  much  better  than  I,  —  almost 
as  well  as  Olav." 

Olav  was  lahna's  lictrothed.  Though  five  thousand 
miles  away,  he  enjoj'ed  the  privilege  of  an  hour's  con- 
versation with  her  every  day  b}'  means  of  the  telephone. 
They  also  carried  on  a  game  of  chess,  a  move  every  day. 
According  to  the  prevading  custom,  both  players  were 
allowetl  to  accept  assistance  from  any  acknowledged 
source.     This  both  lessened  the  pain  of  defeat,  and  led 


THE  HOME   OF    UTIS.  53 

to  the  rapid  interchange  of  new  methods  of  play  between 
widely  separated  localities.  In  this  case  lalma,  aided  by 
Reva,  her  cousin  and  prospective  sister,  said  to  be  au 
enthusiastic  player,  had  gained  one  game,  and  Olav  a 
second.  Now  the  deciding  game  was  in  progress,  Olav 
seeming  to  have  a  decided  advantage.  Reva  was  greatly 
mortified  at  the  prospect  of  impending  defeat.  Just  be- 
cause she  greatly  admired  her  brother,  she  had  enjoyed 
that  first  triumph.  These  details  lalina  communicated 
to  me  in  her  animated  way,  coupled  with  an  entreaty  to 
render  what  assistance  I  could. 

"  I  would  show  yon  the  record  now,"  she  continued, 
"  but  we  are  about  to  have  some  music." 

Ulmene  had  already  seated  herself  before  a  sort  of 
desk,  on  whose  slope  were  several  rows  of  small  keys 
somewhat  resembling  those  of  a  concertina.  The  slight- 
est touch  on  one  of  these  produced  a  note,  the  strength 
of  which,  as  regulated  by  pedals,  could  be  made  to  vary 
from  a  tone  barely  audible  to  the  most  powerful.  Some 
series  of  notes  were  produced  by  the  impact  of  hammers 
on  stretched  strings,  as  in  the  piano,  or  on  metallic  plates 
or  small  bells.  The  sweetest  tones  of  all  came  from 
reeds,  the  mechanism  and  tuning  of  which  had  been 
brought  to  such  perfection,  that  their  tones  rivalled  those 
of  a  violin  in  the  hands  of  a  master. 

On  this  instrument  Ulmene,  whose  special  talent  was 
music,  began  an  improvisation.  Slowly  at  first,  and  in 
simple  style,  she  i)layed  a  music  whose  beauty  depended 
chiefly  on  melody.  Gradually,  as  the  inspiration  came 
on,  the  theme  became  more  Involved,  till  it  culminated  in 
the  grandest  and  most  complicated  combinations  of  har- 


54  THE  DIOTHAS ;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

mony.  Now  the  white,  shapely  hands  moved  slowly  and 
Willi  deliberation  over  the  face  of  the  key-board,  anon 
their  movements  became  rapid  and  indistinct  as  the  flit- 
ting of  the  storm-driven  scud  over  the  disk  of  the  equi- 
noctial moon.  Again  the  music  changed  to  a  slow  and 
stately  movement  of  religious  solemnity.  Transported 
in  spirit  to  a  distant  land,  and  a  still  more  distant  age,  I 
thought  I  once  more  heard  the  grandly  swelling  strains 
that  seemed,  beneath  that  majestic  dome,  to  give  utter- 
ance to  the  upward  aspirations  of  countless  millions. 
When  the  music  ceased,  each  seemed  absorbed  in  revery ; 
and,  after  little  more  conversation,  we  separated  for  the 
uiftht. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IS5IAR. 

When  the  ladies  left  us,  Utis  and  I  passed  out  on  the 
broad  veranda,  and  looked  for  a  while  on  the  moon-lit 
scene.  My  host  seemed  so  absorbed  in  meditation,  that, 
though  burning  to  ask  an  explanation  on  certain  points, 
I  did  not  venture  to  break  in  on  his  revery.  He  gave  me 
the  impression  of  one  debating  inwardly  how  to  open  a 
subject,  and  not  able  to  resolve  on  the  way.  At  last  he 
said,  half  absently,  — 

"It  is  much  pleasanter  on  the  roof:  there  is  more 
&n. 

We  re-entered  the  house,  and  began  to  ascend  the 
stair.  Thinking  he  had  forgotten  the  matter,  I  reminded 
him  that  all  the  doors  and  windows  were  wide  open. 

"  Now  that  it  is  so  warm,"  he  replied,  "  we  leave  the 
house  as  open  as  possible." 

"  But,"  said  I  with  some  hesitation,  "  have  you  no  fear 
of  burglars?  " 

"Burglars,"  he  repeated  slowly,  "burglars,  —  what  is 
that?" 

I  was  about  to  reply  by  a  formal  definition  of  the  terra, 
but  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  was  somewhat  dillicult  to 


56  THE  DIOTIIAS;   OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

commit  technical  burglary  in  a  house  left  perfectly  open 
to  all  comers.     I  replied,  therefore,  — 

"  Thieves,  I  mean." 

"  Oh  !  thieves.  There  are  no  such  creatures  among  us, 
or,  at  least,  are  as  phenomenal  as  cannibals  were  in  your 
time.  No :  we  need  close  our  doors  against  nothing 
more  formidable  than  cold  or  wet." 

AVhile  tlius  talking,  we  had  reached  the  roof.  It  was 
covered  with  a  dense,  closely  shaven  sward.  Closely 
shaven,  at  least,  it  appeared  to  me.  But,  in  reality,  the 
grass  was  of  a  species  that  never  grew  be3'ond  little  more 
than  an  inch  in  length,  the  result  of  long-continued  selec- 
tion. "Warning  me  to  avoid  the  grass,  on  which  the  dew 
was  falling,  he  led  the  way  to  a  stone  platform,  whence 
was  visible  an  extensive  view  of  the  surrounding  country. 
After  pointing  out  the  more  interesting  features  of  the 
scene,  especially  a  glimpse  of  the  Hudson  in  the  distance, 
he  began,  — 

"  I  see  you  are  anxious  to  speak  about  something." 

"  I  may  well  be  so,"  was  my  reply.  "  You  know  how 
I  came  into  this  strange  illusion,  and  3'ou  alone  have  the 
power  to  bring  it  to  a  termination.  It  is  not  unpleasant 
meanwhile  ;  but,  should  it  last  too  long,  it  might  become 
to  me  too  much  of  a  realit}'." 

Even  by  the  mdistinct  moonlight  I  could  perceive  that 
my  host's  face  was  troubled  and  anxious.  He  regarded 
me  for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  then  answered  by  a 
question. 

"  You  have,  then,  a  strong  conviction  that  this  is  not 
your  real  existence?  " 

"  Strong  conviction  !  "  I  exclaimed,  amazed  at  such  a 
CLuestiou.     "  1  am  certain  that  it  is  not." 


ISMAR.  57 

"  Argument  in  such  a  case  is,  of  course,  useless," 
said  Utis,  "  seeing  that  the  evidence  of  your  senses  is 
rejected.  You  have  stated  your  conviction  :  I  Avill  now 
lay  before  you  the  realit}-  as  it  appears  to  me.  You  can 
then  judge  for  yourself.  Not  to  clash  too  violently  with 
your  present  convictions,  I  will  speak  in  the  third  person 
of  him  whose  name  you  bear." 

"One  moment,"  said  I.  "I  bear,  as  you  say,  the 
name  of  Ismar  Thiusen  among  those  to  whom  you  have 
introduced  me  under  that  name.  But  have  you  always 
known  me  by  that  name?  " 

"As  I  never  saw  you  till  this  morning,"  said  Utis, 
with  an  amused  smile,  "it  is  not  difficult  for  me  to  an- 
swer in  the  affirmative." 

At  these  words  I  began  almost  to  doubt  my  own  iden- 
tity—  or  sanity.  It  was  impossiljle  for  me  to  suspect  my 
host's  sincerit}'.  Yet  how  reconcile  this  with  the  evi- 
dence of  my  whole  recollection  of  the  past?  At  first  I 
knew  not  what  to  say  further.  Then  occurred  to  me 
what  seemed  a  crucial  question. 

"  How,  then,  if  you  met  me  to-day  for  the  first  time, 
can  you  have  any  assurance  that  1  am  the  person  known 
as  Ismar  Thiusen?  " 

"A  person  may  be  known  in  many  ways,  though 
never  seen,"  was  the  reply.  "As  the  only  son  of  the 
dearest  friend  of  my  youth,  Ismar  Thiusen  has  been 
known  to  me  from  childhood,  in  portrait,  by  correspond- 
ence, and  by  voice.  The  Ismar  I  met  this  morning  is, 
in  every  feature,  the  exact  counterpart  of  the  portraits  I 
can  show  you  down-stairs  :  they  form,  as  you  will  see, 
an  unbroken  series  from  his  very  infancy.     His  voice,  too, 


58  THE   DTOTUA^;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

not  only  recalls  that  of  his  father,  but  had  become  famil- 
iar to  me  in  the  course  of  frequent  telephonic  inter- 
course." 

After  this,  there  seemed  nothing  more  to  saj%  I  felt, 
too,  somewhat  curious  to  learn  a  little  of  myself  in  the 
new  personality  so  unaccountably  thrust  upon  me.  I 
signified,  accordingly,  my  readiness  to  listen  without  fur- 
ther objection.  Utis  began,  as  follows,  an  account  that 
embodied  what  was  regarded,  by  all  around  me,  as  the 
real  history  of  my  past  life. 

"  Ismar  Tlnusen,  a  near  connection  of  mine  by  mar- 
riage, is  —  as  I  have  before  said  —  the  son  of  a  very  dear 
friend.  It  was  through  me,  indeed,  that  Eured  Thiusen 
first  became  acquainted  with  the  Osna  Diotha  that  finally 
accompanied  him  to  his  distant  home  in  Maoria.^  The 
Thiusens,  as  you  ought  to  know,  are  by  no  means  among 
the  least  considered  among  the  families  of  those  islands. 
They  have  given  names  illustrious  in  every  branch  of 
human  attainment. 

"  I  see  3'ou  were  about  to  speak,  but  checked  yourself. 
Now,  I  beg  you  not  to  hesitate,  but  speak  out,  if  any 
thing  I  say  suggests  a  question.  From  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances in  which  I  find  myself  placed  with  respect  to 
you,  I  shall  be  extremel}'  liable  to  allude  to  matters  that 
will  be  at  least  obscure  without  explanation." 

It  was  in  answer  to  a  question  I  then  put,  that  I 
received  an  explanation  of  the  system  of  family  names 
already  mentioned.  He  concluded  this  exposition  by 
saying,  — 

"Diotha  is,  indeed,  a  frequent,  but  by  no  means  the 

1  The  present  New  Zealand. 


IBMAR.  59 

only,  female  family  name.  My  mother  was  a  Palutlia : 
3'our  —  I  mean  Ismar's  —  grandmother  is  a  Sasta,  a 
matron  still  as  active  and  energetic  as  when  her  son 
brought  home  his  bride." 

"  How  old  may  she  be?  "  I  inquired. 

After  a  short  mental  calculation,  he  stated  her  age  as 
about  seventy  four  or  five.  This,  as  I  subsequently 
found,  was  by  no  means  regarded  as  an  advanced  age. 
Tlie  average  duration  of  human  life  had,  through  various 
causes,  been  prolonged  by  about  thirty  years.  At  sev- 
enty a  person  was,  in  health  and  expectation  of  life,  fully 
on  a  par  with  one  of  forty  at  present ;  and  lives  of  a 
hundred  were  rather  more  frequeut  than  lives  of  seventy 
among  us. 

"It  seems  but  yesterday,"  resumed  my  host,  "when 
my  friend's  letters  were  filled  with  enthusiastic  accounts 
of  his  son's  extraordinary  taste  and  aptitude  for  the 
studies  in  which  he  himself  had  gained  such  distinction. 
Eured  Tiiiusen's  minute  investigations  into  the  languages 
and  eax'ly  history  of  our  race  had  made  his  name  famous 
throughout  the  world.  A  premature  death  carried  him 
off  at  Avhat  seemed  but  the  beginning  of  a  brilliant  career. 

"As  soon  as  Ismar  had  recovered  from  his  first  grief, 
he  resolved  to  devote  his  life  to  the  completion  of  his 
father's  unfinished  work,  and  thus  raise  an  enduring  me- 
morial to  that  honored  name.  In  his  ardor,  he  was  not 
content  with  the  ordinary  means  of  study.  Years  of  la- 
bor, he  saw,  would  be  requisite  to  place  him  merely  where 
his  father  had  stood.  In  his  impatience,  he  rashly  ven- 
tured on  dangerous  methods.  A  certain  Mesmer,  as  you 
know,  gave,  at  a  very  early  period,  some  obscure  hints, 


60  THE   DIOTTIAfi;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

from  whieli  has  dovelopotl  u  highly  iinpoitant  Ijrancli  of 
psychology.  The  body  Ijcing  thrown  into  a  peculiar  state 
of  quiescence,  the  mind  becomes  capable  of  efforts  alto- 
gether l)eyond  its  ordinary  powers.  By  the  aid  of  au 
energetic  will,  Ismar  attained  the  power  of  putting  him- 
self, at  will,  into  a  trance-like  state,  during  which  his 
mind,  released  from  the  trammels  of  sense,  worked  freely 
iu  a  pre-ari'anged  course. 

"  During  these  trances  he  lived,  as  it  were,  another 
life  in  those  distant  ages  with  which  his  studies  had  made 
him  familiar.  Scraps  and  fragments  of  information,  la- 
boriously gathered  from  the  mouldering  records  of  the 
past,  became  blended  into  one  consistent  whole.  Yet  it 
seems  incredible  that  even  the  ardor  of  investigation  could 
make  him  willing  to  spend  so  much  of  his  existence  in  a 
past  so  undesirable  as  that  portra3'ed  so  vividly  in  his 
own  and  his  father's  works. 

"There  then  existed,  as  we  are  told,  several  races  of 
men.  Some  of  these  were  i!i  a  condition  not  greatly 
raised  above  that  of  the  lower  animals,  and  were  treated, 
in  fact,  as  such  by  the  more  favored  races.  The  latter 
had  attained  to  some  knowledge  of  the  rudiments  of  sci- 
ence, and  made  a  fair  beginning  of  subduing  to  their  use 
the  forces  of  nature,  but  were  themselves  a  prey  to  mon- 
strous moral  evils.  A  few  of  the  more  favored  by  nature 
or  fortune  appear  to  have  lived  a  life  approximating  to 
that  now  lived  by  all.  But  even  they  must  have  found 
any  fair  share  of  happiness  dillicult  to  attain,  surrounded, 
as  they  were,  l)y  every  form  of  misery  and  degradation, 
the  fault  of  man  himself,  not  of  the  world  iu  which  he 
has  been  placed. 


ISMAR.  61 

"Repulsive  as  it  seems  to  us,  even  to  rend  of,  Ismar 
spent,  at  last,  fully  one-half  of  his  existence  in  the  ideal 
world  he  had  reconstructed.  This  became  especially  the 
case  after  his  return  from  Olim,  Avhere  he  had  unearthed, 
from  the  vast  accumulations  in  its  immense  libraries,  new 
sources  of  information  on  his  favorite  topic  and  special 
period." 

"What  was  this  period?"  I  inquired,  though  almost 
certain  what  the  answer  would  be. 

"  The  latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  century.  This  had 
been  specially  studied  liy  father  and  son,  as  being  re- 
markable as  a  period  of  transition.  Many  things  then 
lingered  that  were  soon  to  pass  away  forever.  It  was  a 
period  of  fermentation  and  incipient  corruption,  from 
which  society  emerged  at  last,  so  fundamentally  altered 
in  its  outward  form,  and  many  of  its  aims  and  views,  as 
to  bear  scarcely  any  resemblance  to  that  existing  but  a 
few  generations  before." 

I  did  not  again  interrupt  the  narration  to  inquire  about 
the  city  referred  to  under  the  name  of  Olim.  This  I 
afterwards  found  to  be  an  ancient  and  famous  seat  of 
learning  near  the  centre  of  the  Australian  continent. 
From  many  causes,  not  necessary  to  enumerate,  the  great 
library  of  its  celebrated  university  was  especially  rich  in 
documents  relating  to  the  history  of  the  second  and  third 
chiliads.  Among  other  unique  treasures,  it  possessed 
photographic  reductions  of  the  files  of  leading  journals 
during  many  centuries,  during  all  the  period,  in  fact, 
when  the  press  was  at  the  height  of  its  power,  I  have 
seen  a  complete  file  of  "The  London  Times"  for  a  j-ear 
concentrated  into  the  space  of  a  sheet  of  foolscap.     By 


62  THE  DIOTIIAS;   OR,   A  FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

proper  appliances  these,  again,  could  be  thrown  on  a 
screen,  so  as  to  be  read  off  at  the  convenience  of  the 
investigator. 

"It  was  long  before  Ismar's  mother  and  sister  became 
alarmed  by  his  increasing  absorption  in  the  ideal  world 
he  had  created  for  himself.  Silent  and  pre-occupied,  he 
seemed  to  lose  all  interest  in  the  real  world  around  him ; 
while  his  body  wasted  away,  as  if  unequal  to  the  burden 
of  this  double  existence.  At  last  came  a  crisis.  He  was 
discovered  one  morning  in  a  death-like  trance,  in  which  he 
remained  for  weeks.  An  expert,  summoned  at  great 
expense  from  a  distant  part  of  the  globe,  told  of  similar 
cases  that  had  before  occurred,  though  at  rare  intervals. 
He  predicted  that  the  patient,  on  awakening  from  his 
trance,  would  appear  to  have  lost  all  recollection  of  his 
former  life,  or  would  recall  it  only  through  the  distorting 
medium  of  his  delusion.  This  prediction  proved  but  too 
true.  ]\Iy  unhapp}'  kinsman  had  wrecked  a  splendid  in- 
tellect in  his  too  ardent  pursuit  of  knowledge. 

Health  and  strength  returned  with  comparative  rapidity. 
But  he  seemed  to  have  lost  all  taste  for  his  former  studies, 
—  to  have  lost,  indeed,  as  far  as  could  be  discovered,  all 
that  knowledge  acquired  at  so  great  a  cost.  In  the  or- 
dinary affairs  of  life  he  behaved  with  propriety,  though 
often  betraying  a  strange  oblivion  of  well-known  facts. 
Towards  his  mother  and  sister  he  was  the  affectionate  son 
and  brother  he  had  ever  been  ;  toward  others  as  kind  and 
considerate  as  ever.  Yet,  as  would  occasionall}'  crop 
out  from  his  conversation,  he  evidently  associated  them 
with  some  series  of  experiences  of  which  they  had  no 
knowledge. 


IS  MAR.  63 

The  strangest  of  all  was,  it  was  his  mother  first  dis- 
covered, or  rather,  divined,  the  fact,  —  a  woman,  in  such 
matters,  seems  to  arrive  at  correct  conclusions  almost  by 
intuition,  —  it  was  his  mother  discovered  that  her  son  was 
silently  enduring  some  secret  heart-pang,  the  effect  of  un- 
requited or  otherwise  unfortunate  love.  The  discovery 
gave  both  pleasure  and  pain.  Among  us,  as  you  will  find, 
the  happy  marriage  of  her  children  is  a  mother's  chief 
aim ;  its  promotion,  as  far  as  it  can  be  effected  by  a  third 
party,  her  special  province.  There  is  no  difficulty  as  re- 
gards the  daughters.  They  may  fairly  be  left  to  choose 
for  themselves,  since  the}'  alwa3's  have  it  in  their  power  to 
choose.  But  with  sons  it  is  different.  For  several  rea- 
sons, the  supply  of  marriageable  women  is  alwa3's  below 
the  demand.  P>ach  mother  is,  accordingly,  anxious  that 
her  son  shall  not  be  left  among  the  enforced  celibates. 
She  watches  for  any  signs  indicative  of  a  preference  on 
his  part,  and  becomes  her  son's  confidant,  adviser,  and 
zealous  ally  in  his  efforts  to  secure  the  maiden  of  his 
choice.  Osna  Diotha  —  it  is  the  custom  for  widows  to 
resume  their  maiden  name  —  had  been  anxious  on  account 
of  her  son's  apparent  indifference  to  female  society.  She 
longed  to  secure  a  second  daughter  as  a  partial  substitute 
for  the  one  soon  to  pass  to  another  house. 

She  was  accordingly  delighted  to  learn  that  her  son  was 
not  so  indifferent  as  she  had  supposed.  At  the  same  time 
she  was  pained  by  his  want  of  confidence.  Her  son  had 
loved,  and  not  made  her  his  confidant ;  had  failed  where, 
perhaps,  with  lier  co-operation,  he  might  have  been  suc- 
cessful. He  avoided,  too,  all  explanation.  Nor  did  she 
press  for  one   after  she  began  to  suspect  the  unhappy 


64  THE   DIOTUAS;    OR,   A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

truth.  It  was  no  girl  of  flesh  and  blood  had  secured  his 
heart,  but  some  mere  creation  of  his  disordered  fancy." 

Utis  here  paused  in  his  narration,  and  said  with  some 
hesitation, — 

"  I  am  about  to  put  a  question  of  some  delicacy.  But, 
be  assured,  it  is  from  no  mere  curiosity  I  inquire.  I 
could  have  obtained  the  information  otherwise,  but  for- 
bore to  pry,  even  m  your  interest,  into  what,  though  an 
illusion,  may  be  to  you  a  sacred  recess  of  your  conscious- 
ness. Do  you  really  cherish  in  your  heart  the  memory  of 
one  fair  to  you  and  dear  beyond  all  others?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  such  a  memory." 

"  May  I  ask  her  name?  " 

"Edith  Alston." 

"  In  what  way  was  your  love  unhappy?  " 

"  AYe  parted  in  anger.  Or,  to  be  more  correct  as 
well  as  just,  I  was  angry,  and  put  myself  utterly  in  the 
wrong." 

Utis  reflected  for  a  moment,  then  said, — 

"Have  I  your  permission  to  impart  this  confidence  to 
Osna  Diotha?     She  is  deeply  interested  in  the  matter." 

Though  unable  to  see  how  a  perfect  stranger  could  have 
an  interest  in  what  I  imagined  was  so  peculiarly  my  own 
affair,  I  consented  to  my  host's  proposal,  the  more 
readily  from  having  no  real  conviction  of  the  objective 
existence  of  such  personages  as  those  alluded  to.  The 
facts  in  regard  to  Edith  Alston  and  myself  were  probably 
known  —  or  partially  so  —  to  many  besides  my  motlier  and 
sister ;  tliough  I  had  never  discussed  tlie  matter,  even  with 
them.  Yet  they  perfectly  understood  the  reason  of  my 
sudden  departure  for  Europe  —  alone.     A  year  of  rest- 


ISMAR.  Go 

less  and  dissatisfied  wandering  had  lironght  me  har-k  in 
a  humbled  and  repentant  mood.  Almost  the  first  news 
I  heard  upon  hmding  was  the  engagement  of  Edith 
Alston.  The  match  was  brilliant,  so  they  said  ;  his  wealth 
was  enormous :  yet  I  thought  she  was  throwing  herself 
away. 

This  news  was  still  fresh  in  my  ears  when,  after  a 
separation  of  several  years,  I  chanced  to  meet  him  that 
I  here  call  Utis.  He  was  about  to  take  a  prominent 
part  in  a  scientific  expedition  to  a  remote  region  of  the 
globe.  1  earnestly  begged  him  to  take  me  as  a  volunteer 
paying  my  own  expenses.  In  spite  of  a  difference  of 
several  years  in  our  ages,  a  bond  of  intimate  acquahit- 
ance,  almost  approaching  friendship,  had  for  many  years 
united  us. 

He  soon  learned  the  real  origin  of  my  sudden  zeal  for 
scientific  research :  he  was  too  clear  sighted  to  be  easily 
misled.  He  earnestly  dissuaded  me  from  my  intention. 
My  battle  was  not  yet  lost,  he  said,  and  scouted  the  idea 
of  so  soon  forsaking  the  field.  On  the  eventful  evening 
on  which  this  story  opens,  he  had  called  by  appointment 
to  make  some  final  arrangements.  In  some  unaccount- 
able way  the  conversation  had  turned  upon  mesmerism  ; 
and,  to  my  intense  surprise,  he  had  advanced  views  on  that 
sul^ject  quite  irreconcilable  with  my  preconceived  ideas  of 
his  mental  attitude  toward  such  subjects.  The  difference 
between  the  nineteenth  century  and  the  ninety-sixth  was 
not  greater  than  that  between  the  Utis  I  had  formerly 
known  and  the  Utis  who  now  resumed  his  narrative  as 
follows  :  — 

"Under  these  circumstances  an  entire  change  of  scene 


66  THE  DIOTHAS;   OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

and  suiTOundiugs  was  recommended.  His  mother,  who 
had  been  in  frequent  communication  with  me  on  tlie  sub- 
ject, commended  lier  son  to  my  best  care.  I  accepted  the 
trust,  and  Ismar  Thiuseu  arrived  this  morning.  To  my 
pleasant  surprise,  he  showed  no  outward  traces  of  liis 
mental  malady.  On  the  contrary,  he  seemed  unusually 
intelligent  and  observant. 

It  might  be  the  fatigue  resulting  from  his  long  ramble 
round  the  city,  it  might  be  the  excitement  of  new  scenes. 
At  all  events,  soon  after  reaching  my  office,  where  I  at- 
tend to  certain  affairs  that  require  my  occasional  presence 
in  the  city,  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  which  soon  became 
cataleptic  in  character.  At  first  alarmed,  I  soon  recog- 
nized the  supreme  importance  of  the  opportunit}'  thus 
presented  to  me  of  investigating  the  state  of  my  patient's 
mind.  Both  as  family  friend,  and  as  mental  pliysician,  it 
was  my  duty  to  shrink  from  no  means  of  obtaining  guid- 
ance for  my  treatment. 

By  well-known  means  I  caused  him  to  converse  freely, 
taking  great  care  not  to  influence  the  direction  of  his 
thoughts.  What  I  thus  discovered  fully  justified  my 
action.  Since  his  apparent  recovery,  Iny  Avard  had  been 
living  in  an  imaginary  world.  The  facts  of  his  real  ex- 
istence, as  presented  to  him  through  the  distorting  me- 
dium of  his  hallucination,  assumed  the  forms  of  corre- 
lated facts  as  they  had  existed  in  that  distant  past  on 
which  he  had  concentrated  all  the  powers  of  his  mind. 

M}'  course  of  action  was  soon  resolved  on.  There  was 
but  one  path  by  which  he  could  be  brought  to  a  clear 
perception  of  the  objective  facts  of  existence,  —  that 
was,  to  begin  and  become  acquainted  with  these  facts  as 


ISMAR.  67 

a  child  does,  o?;  initio.  In  order  to  effect  this,  I  would 
allow  him  to  awake  under  the  full  power  of  the  delusion 
that  he  belonged  to  a  past  period.  He  should  seem  to 
enter  this  present  world  as  a  visitant  from  that  past  to 
which  he  imagined  himself  to  belong.  Under  my  guid- 
ance he  should  relearn  what  he  had  forgotten.  I  hoped 
lo  restore  him  to  his  friends  at  last,  either  altogether  free 
from  the  dominion  of  those  strange  hallucinations,  or  re- 
membering them  only  as  the  reminiscences  of  an  almost 
forgotten  dream. 

One  part  of  the  plan  has  given  me  much  perplexity. 
Should  I  allow  him  to  remain  under  the  belief  that  I 
share  his  delusion  ?  By  so  doing,  I  should  certainly 
gain  his  confidence,  but  would  render  myself,  at  the 
same  time,  a  sort  of  accomplice  witli  his  delusion,  and 
strengthen  its  hold  upon  him.  Should  I  not,  rather, 
frankly  state  to  him  the  history  of  his  case,  as  it  appears 
to  me  and  his  friends  ?  Even  if  his  excellent  under- 
standing does  not  at  once  enable  him  to  throw  off  the 
domination  of  those  peculiar  ideas ;  yet  we  two  may,  by 
a  sort  of  tacit  agreement,  continue  to  act  and  speak, 
when  by  ourselves,  as  if  I  acquiesced  iu  his  view  of  the 
case.     What  is  your  opinion  ?  " 

Utis  ceased,  leaving  my  mind  in  a  state  of  complete 
bewilderment.  In  his  narrative,  the  bona  fides  of  which 
I  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt,  the  main  facts  of  my  per- 
sonal history,  though  correct  in  outline,  were  as  strangely 
altered  as  was  my  new  name  from  that  I  had  recognized 
as  mine  up  to  a  few  hours  before. 

My  capacity  for  astonishment  was  almost  exhausted. 
Though  conscious  of  being  as  wide  awake  as  ever  iu  my 


68        '    THE   DfOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AUEAD. 

life,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  to  save  thought  hy  accept- 
ing every  thing  that  occurred  as  incidents  in  an  extraordi- 
nary dream,  I  said,  accordingly,  after  a  few  moments 
reflection,  — 

"  The  second  of  the  two  courses  —  that  you  have  fol- 
lowed—  seems  to  me  .the  wiser  as  well  as  the  more 
straightforward.  It  will  be  necessary,  however,  to  ob- 
serve the  tacit  agreement  you  spoke  of.  I  have  cer- 
tainly no  recollection  of  such  a  past  life  as  that  you 
picture.  As  for  the  facts  around  me,  I  am  both  willing 
and  anxious  to  become  acquainted  with  them." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

END    OF   THE    FIRST   DAY. 

Utis  reconducted  me  to  my  sleeping  apartment,  and 
turned  on  the  electric  light.  Going  forward,  he  drew  my 
attention  to  a  magnetic  needle  suspended  below  the  ceil- 
ing, and  over  the  hammock  already  mentioned.  It  might, 
perhaps,  be  more  correctly  designated  as  a  suspended  l)ed. 
I  had  supposed  the  material  to  be  silk ;  but  it  was,  in 
reality,  derived  from  a  certain  vegetable  fibre  that  emu- 
lated silk  in  many  of  its  properties.  The  whole  was  sus- 
pended from  a  circular  metallic  plate  resting  on  supports 
in  the  ceiling  that  allowed  of  its  being  adjusted  in  any 
direction.  The  friction  of  the  points  of  suspension  was 
reduced  to  a  minimum  by  ingenious  mechanical  devices. 
By  pressing  on  a  small  knob,  placed  within  convenient 
reach,  the  occupant  of  the  hammock  could  cause  a  gentle 
swing  to  be  communicated  to  his  couch,  which  motion, 
moreover,  could  be  made  to  continue  for  a  regulated  time. 
A  sort  of  punka,  set  in  motion  and  controlled  in  the 
same  manner,  could  be  made  to  gentl}'  fan  the  sleci)iiig 
occupant  of  the  hammock.  On  warm  nights  I  found  this 
highl}'  acceptable.  Another  knob,  also  within  easy  reach, 
enabled  me  at  will  to  control  the  electric  light,  so  as  to 

69 


70  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

flood  the  room  with  a  light  rivalling  that  of  da}',  or  pro- 
duce total  darkness. 

"This  hammock,"  said  Utis,  after  he  had  explained 
the  use  of  tlie  different  knobs,  "  is  suspended,  as  j'ou  see, 
in  the  line  of  the  magnetic  meridian.  This  is  for  physio- 
logical reasons  that  I  will  explain  some  other  time.  Let 
us  take  another  look  into  your  trunk,"  he  added,  leading 
the  way  to  the  other  room.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  I 
uoticed  something  resembling  a  diary  among  your  other 
effects." 

By  this  time  he  had  approached  the  one  trunk  that  had 
been  opened.  At  his  suggestion  I  raised  the  lid ;  and 
there,  sure  enough,  lay  a  large  morocco-covered  volume, 
with  heavy  clasp  and  lock. 

"  You  ma}'  find  much  to  interest  you  in  that  volume," 
said  Utis.  "  But  do  not  sit  up  too  late.  I  will  call  you 
early." 

Having  thus  said,  he  wished  me  pleasant  slumbers,  and 
left  me  to  my  meditations.  Fatigued  as  I  was  with  the 
crowd  of  novel  ideas  that  had  thronged  upon  me  in  such 
rapid  succession,  I  could  not  refrain  from  a  cursoi-y  ex- 
amination of  the  diary  of  Ismar  Thiusen,  as  was  signified 
on  the  cover.  Surely  I  had  "before  seen  a  volume  not 
unlike  this.  The  contents,  too,  had  a  vaguely  familiar 
air,  like  that  of  the  long-forgotten  story  rea'd  again  for 
the  first  time  since  childhood.  Interspersed  with  numer- 
ous notes  on  favorite  archreological  subjects  were  obser- 
vations suggested  by  visits  to  the  great  cities  of  the 
island-continent  now  known  as  Australia.  My  travels, 
or,  rather,  Ismar' s,  had  apparently  not  extended  beyond 
that  archipelago.     But  these  regions  were  vast  enough 


END   OF  THE  FIRST  DAY.  71 

for  a  very  extensive  course  of  travel.  They  seemed,  in- 
deed, to  contain  as  many  great  cities  as  are  now  contained 
in  tlie  whole  world. 

Frequent  references  to  another  volume  caused  me  to 
search  for  it.  This  volume,  bound  to  match  the  other, 
proved  to  be  a  sort  of  album  containing  excellent  views  of 
picturesque  or  otherwise  interesting  localities,  as  well  as 
of  many  cities  visited  by  the  artist.  By  dates  and  anno- 
tations on  the  margin,  the  views  were  shown  to  be  the 
work  of  the  owner  of  the  diary.  From  the  character  of 
the  work,  the  views  were  evidently  the  result  of  some  kind 
of  photographic  process.  What  filled  me  with  admiration 
was,  the  minute  care  and  fidelity  to  nature  with  which 
the  views  were  colored.  But,  as  I  subsequently  learned, 
all  was  the  work  of  the  sun.  The  photographer  had  long 
since  mastered  the  problem  of  taking  pictures  as  faith- 
ful in  color  as  in  form  and  shading. 

One  inference  I  was  enabled  to  reach  from  a  study  of 
these  views.  Costume  and  architecture,  making  due  al- 
lowance for  differences  of  climate,  were  much  the  same 
throughout  the  Southern  Hemisphere  as  in  the  city  and 
country  I  had  seen  with  such  interest  that  day.  I  was 
especially  interested  in  the  views  of  the  city  of  Olim  and 
its  environs. 

On  the  maps  of  the  present,  the  centre  of  Australia  is 
represented  as  a  waterless,  untrodden  waste.  In  this 
album  were  views  of  a  great  city  occupying  almost  the 
centre  of  that  region.  Its  streets  wee  as  stately  as  those 
I  had  seen  in  Nuiorc  :  ^  many  of  its  edifices,  especially 
those  of  its  famous  university,  showed  signs  of  a  venera- 

1  The  later  equivalent  of  New  York. 


72  THE   DIOTUA^:    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

ble  antiquity.  All  the  surrounding  region  was  in  a  state 
of  high  cultivation,  and  seemed  to  be  the  seat  of  a  nu- 
merous population. 

Musing  on  the  strange  mutations  produced  by  time,  I 
had  almost  fallen  asleep.  I  raised  mj'  eyes  to  examine 
the  dial  placed  above  the  door  between  sitting  and  bed 
room.  Of  the  dial  I  could  make  little.  It  was  divided 
into  twelve  spaces,  indeed,  as  at  present ;  but  these,  in- 
stead of  into  five,  were  subdivided  into  twelve  smaller 
spaces.  That  the  hands  were  moving,  I  could  see.  liut 
it  could  not  possibly  be  onl}'  eight  o'clock.  I  judged  it 
to  be  more  nearly  eleven.  Too  tired  to  dwell  long  on  the 
subject,  I  retired  to  my  hannnock,  where  I  soon  slept  the 
dreamless  sleep  of  exhaustion. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   MORNING   TASK. 

The  early  dawn  afforded  barely  sufficient  light  to  ren- 
der olijects  distinguishable  when  I  awoke.  According  to 
the  dial,  it  was  nearly  half-past  four.  That  should  be 
about  right,  was  my  thought :  perhaps  the  dial  had  been 
set  right  during  the  night.  My  eyes,  still  wandering 
round  the  room,  next  caught  sight  of  Utis  standing  in 
the  doorway. 

"  You  were  sleeping  so  soundly,"  said  he,  after  a  pleas- 
ant greeting,  "that  I  had  not  the  heart  to  rouse  you. 
I  am  glad,  however,  that  you  are  awake,  as  it  is  time  for 
your  first  lesson;  that  is,"  he  continued  with  a  smile, 
"  if  you  still  desire  to  keep  up  the  fiction  agreed  on." 

"  For  me,  at  least,  it  is  no  fiction,"  said  I,  by  this  time 
fully  awake.  "  My  memory  of  the  past  is  quite  the  same 
as  yesterday." 

"  Let  us  see,"  said  he,  seating  himself,  and  making  a 
gesture  for  me  not  to  rise.  "  AVhat  recollection  have  you 
of  the  events  of  yesterday?" 

He  listened  with  absorbed  interest,  while  I  gave  a  suc- 
cinct account  of  the  sights  and  impressions  of  the  day 
before.     At  intervals  he  gave  a  nod  of  assent,  as  if  to 


74  THE   D/OTIfAf!;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

saj%  "That  is  quite  correct."  Once  onlj'  he  raised  his 
hand  as  if  in  doubt.  But  I  soon  convinced  him,  by  the 
mention  of  certain  accessory  circumstances,  that  my  rec- 
ollection of  the  matter  was  correct. 

"Your  memory  is  surprisingly  exact,"  he  remarked: 
"that  occurrence  had  entirely  escaped  m}' memor}'.  Nat- 
urally, many  things  might  pass  unobserved  by  me  that 
would  arrest  your  attention  with  all  the  force  of  novelty." 

He  thus  indicated  his  frank  acceptance  of  my  theory  as 
the  basis  of  our  future  intercourse  :  thenceforth  he  always 
spoke  in  consistence  with  that  view  ;  that  is,  in  our  pri- 
vate intercourse.  "When  communicated  to  him,  my  im- 
pressions of  men  and  things,  as  they  appeared  to  me, 
came  to  excite  in  him  an  interest  perhaps  even  more  vivid 
than  that  experienced  by  myself.  It  became  our  daily 
custom  for  me  to  give  him  a  detailed  account  of  my  new 
discoveries  during  the  day.  He  was  thus  enabled,  in 
a  degree  that  otherwise  would  have  been  impossible,  to 
follow  the  current  of  mj^  ideas,  so  as  to  appreciate  and 
solve  my  difficulties.  A  peculiar  effect  of  this  inter- 
change of  thought  was  gradually  produced.  Utis  not 
only  spoke,  but  frequently  appeared  to  think  also,  from 
my  point  of  view  ;  while  I,  on  the  other  hand,  found 
myself  insensibly  acquiescing  in  the  belief,  that  that  for- 
mer life  of  mine  was  but  a  delusion. 

"  The  first  thing  in  order,"  said  Utis,  when  I  had 
ended  my  summarj-  of  events,  "  is  to  explain  our  manner 
of  dividing  time.  The  system  of  division  3'ou  see  on 
that  dial,"  he  went  on,  '*  is  the  result  of  a  series  of 
changes.  It  is  so  characteristic  and  so  typical  of  tlie 
course  of  change  in  many  similar  matters,  that  it  is 
worth  an  explanation  in  detail. 


THE  MORNING   TASK.  75 

"  When  electric  wires  became  tlie  ordinary  means  of 
communication  over  all  distances,  the  differences  of  local 
time  became  an  intolerable  nuisance.  This  nuisance  was 
got  rid  of  in  a  very  simple  way.  By  general  consent,  it 
was  agreed  to  take  the  time  of  some  fixed  meridian  as 
the  standard  time  throughout  the  world.  For  several 
reasons,  that  of  Greenwich  was  adopted.  Thus,  when 
the  sun  passes  over  the  meridian  of  Greenwich,  it  is 
twelve  o'clock  all  over  the  world,  and  similarly  of  other 
hours.  The  habit  of  associating  certain  hours  with  cer- 
tain positions  of  the  sun  soon  wore  off.  It  became  rather 
a  subject  of  astonishment  that  so  absurd  an  association 
of  ideas  could  stand  so  long  in  the  way  of  the  only 
rational  system.  A  change  adopted  about  the  same  time 
was,  the  division  of  the  dial  into  twenty-four  spaces,  in- 
stead of  twelve,  and  the  numbering  of  the  hours  consec- 
utively from  one  to  twenty-four.  In  the  course  of  time 
this  was,  in  its  turn,  superseded  b}'  the  decimal  division 
of  the  day  and  dial.  By  this  system,  which  remained 
unchanged  through  several  thousand  j^ears,  the  day  was 
divided  into  ten  equal  parts,  each  called  a  meris,  and 
equivalent  to  about  two  hours  and  a  half  of  the  old  sys- 
tem. The  decimal  divisions  of  the  meris  bore  no  dis- 
tinctive names,  but  were  referred  to  merely  as  tenths, 
hundredths,  etc. 

"About  three  thousand  years  ago,  twelve  was  adopted 
bj'  common  consent  as  the  basis  of  the  numerical  system. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  a  corresponding  change  had  to  be 
made  in  the  division  of  all  units  of  quantity  :  instead  of 
a  decimal  we  have  a  duodecimal  system.  That  dial,  for 
example,  is  divided  into  tweh'c  spaces  ;    each  of   these, 


76  THE  DIOTHAS;    OR,   A  FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

again,  into  twelve.  Similarly,  the  daj'  is  divided  into 
twelve  parts,  each,  of  course,  equivalent  to  two  of  the 
ancient  hours  ;  and  so  on,  by  duodecimal  subdivisions, 
as  far  as  necessary.  Thus  when,  in  our  present  notation, 
an  event  is  said  to  happen  at  3.86,  this  corresponds  to 
7h.  2.')m.  old  Greenwich  time." 

"  But,"  objected  I,  "  how  was  it  found  possible  to  over- 
come the  enormous  fiiction  that  the  introduction  of  such 
extensive  changes  must  have  encountered?  In  my  time 
the  metric  system,  in  spite  of  its  manifest  advantages, 
was  making  but  slow  headway.  As  for  the  reform  of  the 
absurd  spelling  of  my  native  tongue,  it  was  a  thing  greatly 
desired,  but  hardly  hoped  for." 

"The  friction  you  mention,"  said  Utis,  "being  the 
result  of  ignorance,  naturally  diminished  in  direct  i)ropor- 
tion  with  ignorance.  Even  in  the  days  you  allude  to, 
scientists  readily  adopted  improvements  in  terminology  ; 
while  astronomers  and  meteorologists,  scattered  over  the 
globe,  framed  and  adhered  to  rules  for  the  apportionment 
of  their  special  work. 

"Another  important  advantage  was,  that  the  progress 
of  science  had  rendered  many  of  the  changes  I  mentioned 
comparatively  inexpensive.  At  the  present  time  four 
great  electric  clocks  —  one  iu  each  quarter  of  the  globe  — 
govern  all  the  timepieces,  each  in  its  own  quarter.  Our 
timepieces,  indeed,  are  only  dials,  like  this  you  see,  the 
bauds  of  which  move  in  unison  with  those  of  the  great 
central  clock." 

"  Have  you  no  watches?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Since  every  apartment  and  piil)lic  edifice  shows  a 
dial,  we  have  generally  as  little  occasion  to  carry  a  time- 


THE  MORNING  TASK.  11 

piece  as  to  carry  a  drinking-cup.  "We  keep  them,  how- 
ever, for  special  purposes." 

80  saying,  he  entered  the  nejt  room,  and  returned,  to 
place  in  my  hands  a  watch  of  the  period.  The  case  was 
of  ualin  of  the  finest  quaUty.  The  watch  being  wound 
and  regulated  on  the  principle  of  the  stem-winder,  the 
case  was  hermetically  sealed  ;  as  it  did  not  require  to  be 
opened,  perhaps,  once  in  a  lifetime.  The  works,  though 
of  excellent  finish,  were  of  the  utmost  simplicity,  there 
being  only  two  hands.  The  smallest  portion  of  time  indi- 
cated, about  five-sixths  of  our  minute,  was  considered  as 
sufficiently  small  for  all  practical  purposes. 

"After  a  brief  plunge  in  the  bath,"  said  Utis,  when  I 
had  returned  the  watch,  "put  on  this  workiug-suit  that 
I  have  placed  on  the  chair.  Do  not  spend  more  than  ten 
minutes  on  the  whole  operation  :  our  toilet  proper  is  per- 
formed after  the  morning's  work  is  over.  When  you  come 
down,  I  will  initiate  you  further." 

Within  the  prescribed  time  I  met  my  host  at  the  foot 
of  the  stair.  On  entering  the  dining-room,  we  found  on 
the  side-table  a  pitcher  of  milk,  tumblers,  and  a  plate  of 
very  palatable  sandwicheSo 

"  AYe  have  three  hours  of  hard  work  before  us,"  said 
Utis,  as  an  inducement  for  me  to  follow  his  example. 

None  of  the  rest  of  the  household  made  their  appear- 
ance while  we  partook  of  this  simple  refreshment,  but 
that  some  were  up  and  at  work  was  manifest.  The 
sound  of  a  power-loom  was  heard  in  the  next  apartment. 
Miugled  with  this  could  be  distinguished  the  peculiar  hum 
of  some  other  machine  ;  while  at  intervals  the  pleasant 
sound  of  female  voices,  and  an  occasional  burst  of  half- 


78  THE  DIOTIIAS;    OR,   A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

unconscious  song,  informed  me  of  the  pei'souality  of  the 
operators. 

I  had,  afterwards,  frequent  opportunities  of  seeing  tlie 
ladies'  workroom,  the  counterparts  of  which  were  to  be 
seen  in  every  home.  The  apartment  itself  was  as  diverse 
from  the  aspect  of  the  typical  factory-room  as  is  the  hou- 
doir  of  a  princess  from  the  kennel  of  a  Caffre's  female 
drudge.  Beneath  the  protecting  covering  of  wide  sheets 
of  xiulin,  the  walls  were  adorned  with  designs  exquisite  in 
drawing,  and  harmonious  in  color. 

One  end  of  the  apartment  was  occupied  by  glazed 
wardrobes  containing,  some,  materials ;  others,  finished 
products.  The  loom,  as  well  as  the  other  machine, 
which  proved  to  be  a  sort  of  stocking-frame,  was  fini«lied 
in  the  style  of  the  machinery  I  had  seen  in  the  city,  and 
was  worked  by  electric  power.  The  ingenuity  of  man, 
exerted  through  thousands  of  years,  had  brought  these 
machines  to  a  degree  of  perfection  that  awoke  in  me  ever 
increasing  admiration  in  proportion  as  I  became  more 
capable  of  appreciating  the  genius  employed  in  their  con- 
struction. They  might,  indeed,  be  called  "  poems  in 
metal;"  embodying,  as  they  did,  the  hopes,  the  aspira- 
tions, the  enthusiasms,  of  a  long  line  of  inventors.  Anxi- 
ety had  been  shown,  not  only  to  insure  rapid  and  delicate 
work,  but  also  to  render  less  irksome  the  task  of  the 
operator,  by  admitting  several  changes  of  posture. 
Every  thing  was  maintained  in  a  state  of  exquisite  neat- 
ness :  not  a  speck  of  dust  or  fluff  was  to  be  seen. 

In  another  place  will  be  found  an  account  of  the  system 
on  which  the  i)eople  of  this  period  arranged  their  time. 
It  will  sutiice,  for  the  present,  to  give  an  account  of  my 


THE   MORNING   TASK.  79 

own  experiences  in  the  workshop,  toward  which  I  followed 
my  host.  The  place  was  well  lighted,  both  walls  and 
roof  being  of  ualin.  Near  the  centre  was  what  I  cor- 
rectly surmised  to  be  a  forge,  or  blast-furnace.  Close 
by  stood  anvils,  and  various  contrivances  for  working  in 
metal. 

First,  by  the  mere  turning  of  a  handle,  Utis  produced 
a  roaring  gas-flame,  —  an  oxyh3'drogen  blast,  indeed,  — 
capable  of  reducing  the  most  refractory  metals  to  a  liquid 
state  in  an  incredibly  short  time.  Under  his  direction  I 
was  soon  busily  engaged  in  feeding  and  controlling  the 
movements  of  a  machine  for  turning  out  large  screw-bolts 
of  a  peculiar  pattern.  The  work  itself  was  done  by  the 
machine,  yet  each  bolt  required  the  exertion  of  a  certain 
amount  of  muscular  and  mental  effort.  The  temperature 
was  somewhat  above  that  of  the  previous  day :  it  was 
such  a  day,  in  fact,  as  ma}^  fairly  be  expected  in  the  mid- 
dle of  July.  I  was,  accordingl}-,  in  a  profuse  perspira- 
tion before  I  had  been  half  an  hour  at  work.  Yet  as  my 
costume  consisted  of  only  two  garments,  leaving  both 
arms  and  lower  limbs  to  a  great  extent  exposed  to  the 
air,  the  supply  of  which  was  ample,  the  sensation  of  heat 
was  by  no  means  so  great  as  I  had  frequently  experienced 
under  far  less  exertion. 

"You  are  doing  well,"  said  Utis,  after  observing  my 
work  for  a  while.  "If  you  find  this  work  too  monoto- 
nous, you  may  learn  to  manage  the  lathe." 

He  then  left  me,  and  busied  himself  in  turning  out  and 
fitting  the  nuts  for  the  bolts.  For  my  part,  I  grew  so 
engrossed  Avith  my  woik,  viewing  with  gratification  the 
gradual  diminution  of  the  pile  of  material  near  my  hand, 


80  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,   A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

that  it  was  almost  with  regret  I  found  the  power  suddenly 
shut  off,  and  hoard  the  cheery  voice  of  Utis,  — 

"  Half  an  hour  for  bath  and  toilet,  then  breakfast." 
He  pointed  to  the  dial  while  speaking.  The  day  be- 
fore, I  should  have  said  that  the  hands  pointed  to  half- 
pnst  six.  A  little  mental  calculation,  however,  showed 
me  that  the  time  indicated  was  what,  in  ancient  times, 
would  have  been  called  one  o'clock,  Greenwich  time,  or 
eight  o'clock  in  New  York.  Throwing  on  the  long  upper 
garments,  or  dressing-gowns,  in  which  we  had  descended, 
we  hastened  into  the  house.  Utis  accompanied  me  to  my 
room,  turned  on  the  water,  explained  the  duodecimal 
divisions  on  the  thermometer,  and  said,  — 

"When  the  mercury  rises  to  this  red  mark,  the  tem- 
perature is  best  for  bathing.  Do  not  remain  in  too  long. 
When  you  have  dried  yourself,  rub  into  j'our  skin  some 
of  the  preparation  contained  in  this  flask,  especially  over 
muscles  that  show  fatigue.  You  will  find  it  very  refresh- 
ing." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   PROPOSAL. 

The  breakfast  to  which  we  sat  down  it  is  not  necessary 
to  characterize  more  fully  than  by  saying  that  it  fauly 
matclied  the  dinner  of  the  previous  evening.  Except  in 
the  absence  of  wines,  the  repast  reminded  me  of  an  artisti- 
cally prepared  dejeuner  ci  la  fourchette  where  quality 
rather  than  quantity  was  the  aim. 

The  ladies,  bright-eyed  and  cheerful  from  exercise,  and 
rosy  from  the  morning  bath,  lent  sparkle  to  the  conversa- 
tion. No  one,  seeing  their  fresh  and  elegant  costumes, 
wonld  have  imagined  them  to  have  spent  three  active 
hours  in  the  labors  of  a  factorj'-hand.  Nor  must  it  be 
thought  that  these  labors  had  been  performed  in  a  pcr- 
functor}'  manner.  Whatever  these  people  did,  they  did 
with  all  their  might.  The  labor  of  the  early  morning  was 
entered  into  with  the  zest  inspired  among  us  by  athletic 
exercises  alone.  Even  the  children,  so  well  bred  and 
neat,  had  been  three  hours  already  out  of  bed,  attending 
to  certain  small  honsehold  duties  appropriate  to  their  age. 

I  was  somewhat  m^'stified,  during  breakfast,  b}^  hearing 
strains  of  magnificent  music,  which  proceeded  evidently 
from  a  full  orchestra.     At  times  the  sound  appeared  to 

81 


82  THE  DIOTHAS;   OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

issue  from  the  next  apartment :  again  they  would  sound 
as  if  from  afar.  In  each  case  the  distance  was  exactly 
that  from  which  the  passage  was  heard  to  the  greatest 
advantage. 

The  meal  concluded,  we  were  in  no  haste  to  rise  from 
tal)le.  The  character  of  the  music  now  changed.  The 
instruments  took  a  subordinate  part,  as  the  background  to 
a  grand  chorus  of  nuiltitudiuous  voices,  or  as  the  subdued 
accompaniment  to  solos,  duets,  or  trios,  executed  by  voices 
of  power  and  compass  beyond  all  it  had,  till  then,  been 
my  fortune  to  hear.  During  the  pauses  in  the  perform- 
ance, the  ladies  discussed  both  music  and  performers  in  a 
manner  that  showed,  not  only  a  sound  musical  training, 
but  also  rare  artistic  appreciation. 

"  Presently  you  shall  hear  Ulmene's  piece,"  said  lalma 
to  me  during  one  of  these  pauses. 

Before  I  had  time  to  inquire  whether  b}'  this  she  meant 
a  favorite  piece  of  her  sister's,  or  an  original  composition 
by  her,  the  doubt  was  solved  by  the  opening  of  the  i)iece 
in  question.  During  the  progress  of  the  music,  which,  I 
am  ashamed  to  confess,  was  rather  beyond  me,  Ulmene's 
rapt  look  was  that  of  the  artist  intent  for  errors  in  execu- 
tion. To  the  rest,  the  strain  was  evidently  familiar  and 
dear.  To  me  the  expression  of  affectionate  pride  on  the 
faces  of  husband,  sister,  and  children  was  a  study  more 
interesting  than  the  music.  This  piece  was  the  jinaJp ; 
or,  rather,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  the  telephone  was  shut 
off  that  had  conveyed  the  sound  from  a  distance. 

"We  prefer  our  music  in  the  morning,"  said  Utis, 
when  we  were  conversing  on  the  subject.  "  It  fills  up 
agreeably  the  leisure  that  ought  to  be  enjoyed  after  a 


A  PROPOSAL.  83 

hearty  meal.  That  was,  surely,  a  strange  custom  in  your 
period,  of  spending  the  evening  in  closely  packed,  badly 
ventilated  halls." 

"  It  was  a  matter  of  necessity  rather  than  choice,"  I 
replied.  "If  we  wanted  music,  we  had  to  go  where  it 
was  to  be  heard.  Even  princes  could  not  afford  such 
music  at  their  breakfasts.  But  one  thing  especially  sur- 
prises me.  ..  How  do  you  succeed  in  obtaining  concerts  at 
that  early  hour  ?  Are  your  artists  so  self-sacrificing  as  to 
regard  breakfast  of  no  importance  iu  comparison  with  the 
public  pleasure?  " 

' '  The  telephone  is  the  magician, ' '  said  Utis.  ' '  The  con- 
cert you  heard  this  morning  was  performed  iu  a  great  city 
of  Central  Europe,  at  an  hour  there  belonging  to  the  after- 
noon. Each  continent  has  its  own  great  musical  centre, 
toward  which  gravitates  whatever  arises  of  genius,  tal- 
ent, or  vocal  endowment.  In  that  city  are  produced 
musical  performances  on  a  grand  scale.  By  means  of 
the  telei)houe,  these  are  reproduced  at  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  in  the  homes  of  all  willing  to  pay  a  small  annual 
sum  for  the  privilege.  A  whole  continent,  at  times  all 
the  continents,  will  thus,  at  the  same  moment,  sit  in  judg- 
ment on  a  new  piece  or  a  new  singer." 

Breakfast  ovei-,  and  every  thing  restored  to  proper 
order,  the  children  departed  for  school ;  and,  in  the  ordi- 
nary course,  we  should  have  separated,  each  to  his  or  her 
favorite  pursuit.  But,  mindful  of  his  promise,  Utis  took 
me  under  his  charge. 

Our  heads  protected  by  a  sort  of  sun-helmet,  we  issued 
forth  to  view  the  fields.  What  first  drew  my  attention  in 
the  landscape  was  the  general  absence  of  fences,  pasture, 


84  THE  DTOTEAS;   OR,   A  FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

or  masses  of  woodland.  Long  lines  of  trees  marked  the 
roads.  Near  these,  at  frequent  intervals,  a  glimpse  of 
masonry,  from  amid  a  clump  of  aged  trees,  indicated  the 
position  of  a  homestead. 

Land  was  far  too  valuable  to  be  left  under  forest.  But 
the  borders  of  all  roads  were  planted  with  approved  varie- 
ties of  trees.  These  both  afforded  a  pleasant  shade  to  the 
roads,  and  by  the  cutting  down  of  every  thirtieth  tree,  or 
so,  each  year,  yielded  a  sufficient  supply  of  timber  for  the 
few  purposes  to  which  it  was  applied.  The  trees  sur- 
rounding the  homesteads  were,  of  course,  sacred  from  the 
axe,  and,  being  usually  of  long-lived  species,  were  often 
of  venerable  antiquity,  counting  their  years,  not  by  cen- 
turies, but  by  chiliads.  Such  trees,  associated  with  far- 
extending  family  traditions,  were  regarded  with  feelings 
of  affection  difficult  for  us  to  conceive. 

Such  a  tree  was  a  venerable  sequoia,  which  it  was  my 
privilege  to  see  in  the  region  bordering  on  where  once 
was  a  great  lake  known  as  P2rie.  This  tree,  proved  by 
documentary  evidence  to  be  over  forty-two  centuries  old, 
was  said  to  be  the  immediate  offspring  of  a  tree  that  had 
attained  an  almost  equal  antiquity.  This  hoary  survivor 
from  a  distant  past  had  seen  pass  away  more  than  a  hun- 
dred and  seventy  generations,  and  was  supposed  to  be  the 
oldest  living  organism  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  It  stood 
near  the  ancient  homestead  of  the  Huarvils,  a  family 
justly  proud  of  its  ability  to  trace  its  descent  from  two 
presidents  of  the  earliest  ages  of  the  republic,  both  vic- 
tims of  malignant  passions,  both  martyrs  to  duty. 

I  was  filled  with  surprise  to  see  the  high  state  of  culti- 
vation  to  which  had   been  brought  the  whole   country 


A   PROPOSAL.  85 

around  where  Utis  had  his  home.  Yet  this  wjis  nothing 
exceptional.  Everywhere  this  same  state  of  things  was 
to  be  seen.  Not  a  waste  corner,  not  a  weed,  was  visible. 
Between  field  and  garden  there  was  no  distinction,  except 
in  the  nature  of  the  crop.  The  extensive  areas  under  one 
crop  reminded  me  somewhat  of  what  I  had  seeu  in  some 
Western  States. 

"  We  need  no  fences,"  said  Utis,  in  reply  to  an  observa- 
tion of  mine  ;  "  since  there  are  no  cattle  to  keep,  either  out 
or  in." 

"  No  cattle  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Whence,  then,  that  rich 
milk,  that  excellent  beef-steak,  that  made  its  appearance 
on  the  breakfast-table  this  morning?  " 

"  Our  milk,"  replied  Utis,  "  is  an  artificial  product  pre- 
pared from  maize :  so,  to  a  large  extent,  is  our  beef,  as 
you  call  it,  and  similar  articles  of  food." 

"  P^xplain,"  said  I,  in  some  amazement. 

"  There  is  nothing  very  wonderful  about  the  matter," 
was  the  reply,  "if  you  keep  in  mind  that  chemistry  has 
made  some  progress  since  the  nineteenth  century.  P>veu 
then,  in  the  very  infancy  of  their  science,  chemists  had 
succeeded  in  preparing  in  the  laboratory  several  valuable 
substances,  previously  derived,  at  greater  cost,  from  field- 
crops.  That  was  only  the  beginning  of  such  discoveries. 
Chemistry  long  ago  ceased  to  be  an  experimental  art.  It 
is  now  a  strictly  deductive  science,  in  which,  by  the  proper 
manipulation  of  symbols  and  formulas,  interesting  or 
important  discoveries  may  be  made  without  the  necessity 
of  handling  a  re-agent  or  an  instrument.  Our  experts 
are  able,  not  only  to  imitate  any  definite  compound  known 
to  exist  in  nature,  but  even  to  invent  others,  some  of  the 
greatest  value. 


86  TUP.    DfOTHAS;    on,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

"We  could  —  it  has  been  done  —  compound  food  di- 
rectly from  mineral  substances.  That,  however,  is  difficult 
and  costl}'.  "We  prefer  to  let  nature  do  most  of  the  work 
to  our  hand.  From  the  vegetable  world  we  obtain  certain 
stock  compounds,  from  which,  by  suitable  modifications, 
we  form  all  we  need.  P>om  maize  alone,  as  a  basis, 
every  variet}'  of  food  could  be  prepared.  But  mainly  ou 
account  of  the  advantage  of  a  rotation  of  crops,  we  raise, 
besides,  wheat,  barlej',  oats,  potatoes,  and  beets,  and  other 
crops  in  smaller  quantities.  In  some  tropical  countries, 
bananas,  another  imi)ortant  basis,  are  raised  in  enormous 
quantities.  Especially  in  the  valley  of  the  Amazon,  one 
of  the  most  fertile  regions  of  the  globe,  and  now  thickly 
populated,  are  grown  a  variety  of  plants,  from  which  are 
extracted  our  most  exquisite  flavors." 

This  information  was  given,  not  altogether,  but  at 
intervals,  while  we  traversed  the  garden  and  orchard. 
In  these  were  found  all  the  fruits  now  grown  in  temper- 
ate climates,  and  many  that  I  failed  to  recognize.  As 
for  flowers,  there  did  not  seem  to  be  a  greater  variety 
than  at  present,  but  better  choice. 

"  Besides  cats  and  dogs,  these  are  the  only  domestic 
animals  usually  kept  among  us,"  said  Utis,  as  we  arrived 
at  an  extensive  enclosure  surrounded  by  a  lofty  wire 
netting,  containing  a  variety  of  domestic  fowl. 

On  making  some  remark  in  regard  to  the  peculiarities 
of  the  breed,  I  learned  that  these  peculiarities  arose  from 
long-continued  selection  with  a  view  to  laying  properties 
alone.  Kggs  and  fish  were  the  only  animal  products  used 
as  food.  Sheep  were  raised,  in  like  manner,  solely  for 
the  sake  of  their  fleece.  The  breed,  accordingly,  would 
not,  among  us,  create  great  demand  for  their  mutton. 


A   PROrOSAL.  87 

These  sheep  were  kept  in  immense  flocks,  the  manner 
of  herding  them  presenting  an  interesting  example  of 
that  reversion  to  primitive  customs  whicli  I  had  so  fre- 
quently to  remark.  At  intervals  of  a  few  years,  it  had 
been  found  advantageous  to  allow  the  land  to  rest  from 
constant  cropping.  By  general  agreement,  a  whole  re- 
gion—  the  northern  part  of  the  Atlantic  slope,  for  exam- 
ple—  would  have  its  entire  area  of  arable  land  put  under 
grass  for  a  year.  To  the  enormous  grazing-ground  thus 
provided  would  be  driven  the  millions  of  sheep  pastured 
the  preceding  j'ear  on  the  contiguous  region.  Beginning 
at  one  extremity  of  the  region,  the  countless  flocks  would 
gradually  pass  on,  feeding  their  way,  toward  the  next 
region.  In  this  way  the  grazing-area  would  gradually 
shift  from  the  Pacific  to  the  Atlantic  coast,  and  thence 
return  by  another  course.  The  soil,  rested  and  enriched, 
is  ploughed  over  immediately  after  the  passage  of  the 
last  flock. 

"  Our  system  of  cultivation  is  peculiar,"  said  my  host, 
as  we  seated  ourselves  in  the  shade  of  a  linden,  to  watch 
the  fowl  pick  up  the  food  tliat  had  just  been  scattered 
before  them.  "The  amount  of  land  held  by  each  family 
is  small, — about  ten  acres,  perhaps.  By  the  labors  of 
ages,  the  soil  has  been  enriched  and  thoroughl}-  pulver- 
ized, besides  being  completely  underlaid  with  pipes  for 
drainage  and  for  irrigation. 

"  The  total  absence  of  fences  makes  it  possible,  how- 
ever, to  perform  all  the  operations  of  agriculture  on  a 
grand  scale.  It  is  usual  for  some  one  that  makes  farm- 
ing his  special  business,  and  possesses  the  necessary 
plant  for,  say,  a  thousand  acres,  to  take  for  a  year  the 


88  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

laud  of  some  hundred  adjacent  families.  He  performs 
the  ordinary  work  on  the  land  by  means  of  his  own  ma- 
chinery and  his  own  employees.  But,  in  accordance  with 
long-standing  custom,  he  is  entitled,  on  pressing  occasion, 
to  call  on  all  the  able-bodied  proprietors  to  aid  in  saving 
the  harvest.  P^ven  the  women  voluntarily  turn  out,  on 
ver}-  urgent  occasions,  when  warning  of  a  rapidl}'  ap- 
proaching storm  comes  at  a  critical  time." 

"But,"  said  I,  ^  since  you  have  no  cattle,  whence  do 
3'ou  obtain  your  fertilizers?  " 

"By  allowing  nothing  to  go  to  waste,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Our  sewage,  instead  of  poisoning  rivers,  is  made  to  fer- 
tilize the  laud.  The  rocks,  too,  and  the  ocean,  are  made 
to  render  aid.  But  our  most  effectual  means  of  insuring 
fertility  is  a  thorough  system  of  irrigation.  Not  a  drop 
of  water,  for  example,  is  allowed  to  run  to  waste  from 
our  numerous  bath-rooms.  It  all  runs  to  a  reservoir, 
whence,  by  appropriate  means,  it  is  distributed  over  the 
soil.  But  come,"  said  he,  rising.  "I  have  something 
interesting  to  show  you." 

In  obedience  to  this  summons,  I  followed  to  a  glass- 
framed  shed  near  the  house.  There,  beside  the  curricle 
on  which  we  had  come  the  day  before,  stood  another,  all 
resplendent  in  the  unsoiled  gloss  of  novelty.  Learning 
that  this  vehicle  had  been  procured  for  me,  in  accordance 
with  directions  from  home,  I  examined  it  with  all  the  keen 
interest  a  l)oy  would  display  on  coming  to  possess  his 
first  bicycle.  As  I  moved  it  to  and  fro  over  the  smooth 
lloor,  —  it  moved  at  a  mere  touch,  —  Utis  anticipated  my 
wish  b}'  proposing  a  trial  on  the  road. 

"•  It  seems  to  be  seated  for  only  one,"  said  I.  "  But 
will  it  be  safe  for  a  novice  to  venture  alone?  " 


A  PROPOSAL.  89 

"This  is  the  way  to  expand  the  seat,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I  will  steer  till  we  reach  the  raaiu  road." 

Ere  we  reached  there,  I  had  mastered  the  few  simple 
motions  that  controlled  the  machine.  Then,  taking  the 
tiller,  I  put  my  metallic  steed  to  its  paces.  Presently, 
seeing  me  sufficiently  master  of  the  machine,  Utis  re- 
quested me  to  set  him  down  at  a  house  where  he  had 
some  business.  As  he  desired  me  to  call  again  in  about 
an  hour,  I  reminded  him  that  I  had  no  watch.  He  then 
drew  my  attention  to  three  small  dials  inserted  near  the 
foot-rest.  One  was  the  dial  of  a  cyclometer,  recording 
the  distance  run  ;  a  second  was  a  watch-dial,  divided  as 
already  explained ;  on  a  third,  an  index,  moving  like 
that  of  a  steam-gauge,  indicated  the  rate  of  speed  at  any 
moment. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  exhilaration  of  that  ride  !  At 
a  rate  of  speed  such  as  can  be  maintained  by  a  horse  for 
a  brief  period  only,  on  I  dashed  without  let  or  pause. 
Houses  and  trees  flew  past :  the  wind  almost  prevented 
breathing.  Yet  no  panting,  foaming  steed,  no  compuuc- 
tuous  fears  for  a  noble  and  valuable  animal.  Onward 
sped  my  silent  steed,  with  unabated  force,  till  the  dial 
showed  that  half  ni}-  time  was  expired. 

On  my  return,  I  had  reached  within  a  mile  or  two  of 
where  I  expected  to  find  Utis,  when  I  observed,  some 
distance  ahead,  a  curricle  standing  on  the  turnout  of  the 
road.  The  rider's  back  was  toward  me,  but  her  stoop- 
ing position  —  by  this  time  I  had  recognized  the  dress  as 
tliat  of  a  young  girl  —  showed  her  to  be  busied  at  some- 
thing beneath  the  body  of  the  vehicle. 

I  was  in  some  doubt  as  to  what  would  be  proper  for 


90  THE    DIOTIIAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

me  to  do,  to  offer  assistance,  or  pass  on,  when  the  young 
lady,  rising  to  an  erect  position,  and  turning  toward  me, 
revealed  the  face  of  Reva  Uiotha.  The  stoopino;  position 
from  which  slic  had  just  risen  had  lieightened  tlie  color  of 
her  comi)lexion,  and  somewhat  disordered  her  abundant 
locks.  A  tiny  smudge  on  her  chin  rather  added  piquancy 
to  her  beauty,  drawing  attention,  as  it  did,  to  the  loveli- 
est of  dimples.  The  monkey-wrench  in  her  hand  showed 
how  she  had  been  occupied,  and  indicated  the  origin  of 
the  above-mentioned  mark.  Throwing  back  her  hair  over 
her  shoulder,  she  frankly  expressed  her  delight  at  my 
opportune  arrival. 

"You  come  at  a  good  time.  I  dismounted  to  tighten 
this  screw," — as  she  spoke  she  gave  a  slight  taj)  with  the 
wrench,  —  "  and  was  so  awkward  as  to  draw  off  the  head. 
With  your  aid  I  can  repair  it  in  half  the  time." 

By  this  time  I  was  standing  beside  her,  regarding  the 
damaged  machine  with  all  the  wisdom  I  could  muster  at 
the  moment.  Somewhat  alarmed  at  the  confidence  thus 
expressed  of  my  proving  useful  in  a  matter  of  which  I  felt 
entirely  ignorant,  I  inquired  as  to  whether  the  machine 
could  not  work  at  all  till  this  repair  was  effected. 

"I  might  venture  on  five  or  six  miles  an  hour.  The 
difficulty  is,  that  I  have  only  an  hour  in  which  to  reach  the 
station,  where  I  have  promised  to  meet  a  friend." 

"  Why  might  I  not  take  you  down?  "  said  I,  quite  for- 
getting Utis  in  my  eagerness. 

"  I  have  not  3'et  bound  up  my  hair,"  was  the  reply,  ac- 
companied by  a  faint  blush. 

The  answer  was  somewhat  enigmatical.  Yet,  though 
not  without  a  glimpse  of  its  meaning,  I  boldly  went  on,  — 


A  PROPOSAL.  91 

"  Why  not  bind  it  up,  then  ?  " 

With  an  emphatic  shake  of  the  head,  and  a  merry  laugh, 
she  repUed,  — 

"  That  might,  perhaps,  do  in  Maoria,  hut  not  here." 

"  Surel}^  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  your  using  my 
machine,  and  keeping  your  engagement!"  I  exclaimed. 
"  I  will  take  charge  of  yours  meanwhile." 

Seeing  me  very  much  4n  earnest  in  my  offer,  she  grate- 
fully accepted,  mounted,  waved  the  usual  graceful  gesture 
of  farewell,  and  was  soon  vanishing  in  the  distance. 
Utis  was  naturally  surprised  to  see  me  appear  with  this 
slow-moving  exchange  for  my  late  mount.  Without  many 
questions,  however,  he  set  to  work,  and  soon  had  the 
vehicle  in  working  order.  It  was  not  till  we  had  started 
on  our  way  home  that  I  recounted  my  adventure  at  greater 
length.  For  some  reason,  it  seemed  to  cause  him  great 
amusement ;  and  it  was  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye 
that  he  said,  — 

"  You  are,  perhaps,  not  aware  that  you  have  made  this 
morning  a  formal  proposal  to  Reva  Diotha." 

"What!"  I  exclaimed,  naturally  startled  by  such  an 
unexpected  announcement. 

"You  need  not  look  so  frightened,"  he  continued. 
"  She  has  refused  you  in  due  form." 

He  then  went  on  to  explain,  that  among  them  it  was 
not  customary  for  a  girl  to  ride  out  with  a  bachelor  unless 
betrothed  to  him.  In  that  case  her  hair,  no  longer  al- 
lowed to  hang  in  unrestrained  luxuriance,  was  braided  up, 
or  confined  in  a  net,  after  the  manner  of  betrothed  maid- 
ens. A  not  unusual  way,  therefore,  for  a  young  man  to 
put  a  certain  momentous  question  to  the  maiden  of  his 


92  TTTE   DlOTlfAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

choice,  is,  for  him  to  offer  her  a  seat  in  his  curricle.  If 
the  fair  one  consents,  even  by  a  nod,  she  is  supposed  to 
admit  him  as  a  suitor  on  probation.  Her  hair  is  then 
bound  up  by  the  hands  of  lier  mother,  or  nearest  kins- 
woman ;  and  the  appearance  of  the  pair  in  public  is  the 
acknowledged  sign  of  the  first  stage  of  courtship.  A  re- 
fusal, on  the  other  hand,  is  delicately  conveyed  by  her 
saying  that  she  does  not  like,  or  does  not  wish,  to  bind  up 
her  hair. 

"  kSurely,  Reva  will  not  think  that  I  am  so  " — 
"  Set  your  mind  at  rest.  She  evidently  understood 
your  proi)osal  as  you  meant  it,  but  could  not,  of  course, 
explain  quite  freely  why  she  was  not  at  liberty  to  accept. 
Perhaps,"  he  added  after  a  pause,  "  it  will  be  as  well  not 
to  mention  the  matter  at  home.  Reva  is  high-spirited, 
and  might  take  amiss  your  exposing  her  to  teasing  re- 
marks." 


CHAPTER  X. 


A   GAME   AT   CHESS. 


By  the  time  we  reached  home  —  for  so  I  ah-eady  began 
to  regard  my  new  abode  —  it  was  time  for  the  mid-day 
collation.  As  was  the  case  with  the  early  four-o'clock 
breakfast,  all  the  members  of  the  household  do  not  neces- 
sarily meet  at  this  meal.  Each  enters  the  dining-room 
when  convenient,  to  partake,  as  may  seem  fit,  of  what  is 
provided  in  the  compartments  of  the  ever  serviceable 
cehin.  In  this  way  the  whole  time  between  nine  in  the 
morning  and  six  in  the  evening  is  at  the  free  disposal  of 
each. 

After  this  informal  repast,  where  we  did,  however,  ex- 
change a  few  words  with  the  ladies  of  the  house,  Utis 
carried  me  off  to  his  indoor  retreat,  a  combination  of 
study  and  workshop.  Here  was  a  workbench  of  ingen- 
ious mechanical  construction,  a  lathe,  and  various  tools 
adapted  for  delicate  operations  on  glass  or  metal.  From 
these  articles,  of  which  I  had  but  little  knowledge,  I  soon 
turned  my  attention  to  the  contents  of  the  book-cases. 
Tlie  number  of  volumes  was  not  great,  —  about  a  thou- 
sand, besides  a  cyclopanlia  in  one  hundred  volumes. 

"You  see  before  you,"  said  Utis,  noting  the  direction 

93 


94  Tin:    DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

of  my  cj'es,  the  distilled  quintessence  of  the  learning  and 
genius  of  twelve  thousand  years." 

"  It  seems  but  a  small  space  to  contain  so  much,"  said 
1  doubtfully,  calling  to  mind  the  immense  libraries  of 
London  and  Paris. 

"  I  fully  appreciate  your  doubt.  But  each  volume  rep- 
resents a  choice  classic  or  a  standard  authority  on  some 
one  subject." 

"Yet,  as  I  understood  you,"  said  I,  "  j-our  family  has 
been  settled  in  this  place  for  about  thirtj'-two  centuries. 
Suix'ly,  during  that  period  a  much  greater  number  of 
books  than  this  would  accumulate,  almost  uuavoidal )!}'." 

"  Your  remark  is  just.  But,  in  the  fli'st  place,  these 
are  not  all  the  books  the  house  contains.  There  is  a  fair 
collection  of  works  of  reference  in  30ur  room  ;  the  ladies 
have  their  special  library  ;  there  is  also  a  separate  col- 
lection for  the  children.  In  the  next  place,  even  these 
collections  are  the  result  of  a  literary  struggle  for  exist- 
ence extending  over  long  periods. 

"  The  first  hundred  volumes  or  so,  on  the  upper  shelves, 
represent  the  world-classics,  down  to  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury, the  best  of  each  great  name  comprised  in  a  single 
volume.  Life  is  too  short  for  becoming  acquainted  with 
any  but  the  very  best.  The  next  four  hundred  vol- 
umes represent  the  classics  that  have  appeared  since  the 
twentieth  century.  All  the  rest  are  standard  works  of 
reference. 

"The  classics,  as  you  see,  are  mostly  old,  —  those  on 
the  upper  shelves  very  old  ;  though  the  bindings  are  com- 
paratively new,  since  they  nuist  be  renewed  every  few 
centuries.     As  for  the  works  of  reference,  as  soon  as  one 


A   GAME  AT  CHESS.  95 

is  siipcrseclecl  by  a  later  and  better  work,  it  is  relegated  to 
the  shelves  of  the  great  depository." 

"What  is  this  depository?"  inquired  I,  seeing  him 
about  to  pass  on  without  explanation. 

"At  a  comparatively  early  period,"  said  he,  "men 
outgrew  the  childish  folly  of  lumbering  their  abodes  with 
antique  rubliish.  The  depository  is  an  immense  fireproof 
building,  where  are  preserved  such  culls  from  private 
libraries  as  are  not  already  on  its  list.  There  they  are 
catalogued  and  compactly  arranged  in  departments  by  a 
librarian  and  his  corps  of  assistants." 

"  Such  a  collection  must  be  extensive,"  I  remarked. 

"  Yes :  in  spite  of  reselections,  repeated  every  cen- 
tury, the  number  of  works  will  grow.  It  now  amounts 
to  something  over  a  hundred  millions.  Besides  this 
central  library,  each  State  possesses  a  more  manageable 
collection,  of  a  million  volumes,  or  so.  The  central 
depository  is  consulted  chiefly  for  very  special  researches. 
Your  father  spent  many  an  hour  there,  examining  a 
unique  collection  of  documents  bearing  on  the  nineteenth 
century.  Here  are  two  volumes  of  his  works,  which  it 
is  difficult  for  me  to  imagine  as  not  familiar  to  your 
ej-es." 

As  may  be  supposed,  the  work  referred  to  was  viewed 
by  me  with  feelings  of  lively  interest.  Numberless  ques- 
tions occurred  to  me.  But  I  had  already  encroaclied  so 
much  on  my  host's  time,  that  I  felt  ashamed  to  ask  more. 
I  begged,  accordingly,  for  a  loan  of  the  above-mentioned 
volumes,  and  carried  them  off  to  my  room. 

Scarcely  had  I  seated  myself  to  a  perusal  of  the  work, 
when  the  recoguized  signal  called  me  to  the  telephone. 


96  THE   DfOTHAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

There  the  voice  of  lalma  greeted  ray  ears,  reminding  me 
of  my  promise  to  assist  her  and  Reva  in  that  game  of 
chess.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  matter  had  not  once  recurred 
to  my  mind.     But  such  a  summons  must  be  obej'ed. 

"  I  quite  forgot  about  the  game  when  I  last  saw  you," 
said  lalma  apologetically,  when  I  entered  the  parlor.  "  I 
have  been  anxious  to  see  you  ever  since,  but  have  only 
now  been  informed  by  Utis  that  you  are  at  liberty.  If 
you  can  give  us  any  help,  it  must  be  to-day ;  since  the 
reply  to  Olav's  last  move  must  be  sent  b^'  six  o'clock,  and 
it  is  now  three. 

"  Utis,"  she  continued,  as  we  seated  ourselves  at  the 
chess-table,  "  was,  at  one  time,  a  champion  player,  but 
gave  it  up  as  too  engrossing.  Keva  coaxed  him  to  look 
over  our  game,  but  he  gives  us  ver}-  little  encouragement." 

She  produced  the  record,  and  played  over  the  moves, 
while  I  looked  on  in  silence. 

"  That  is  hazardous  before  a  first-class  opponent,"  I 
remarked  at  last,  in  reference  to  a  certain  move. 

"  It  was  Reva's  suggestion,"  said  lalma,  "  and  struck 
me  as  a  brilliant  attack." 

"Brilliant  it  is,"  said  I,  "but  not  sound.  Yet  an 
ordinary  player  would  almost  certainly  be  disconcerted  by 
it.  This  is  the  plan,"  continued  I,  while  I  played  a  few 
moves  in  advance. 

"  Exactly  as  Reva  played  it  over  to  me!"  exclaimed 
lalma,  in  some  surprise. 

"  But  this  is  the  retort  to  which  you  lay  yourself  open," 
I  said,  after  replacing  the  pieces  as  before,  and  playing 
anotlier  series  of  moves. 

"Wonderful!"  she  exclaimed.  "Except  the  last, 
these  are  the  very  moves  that  have  been  played." 


A    GAME  AT   CFTESS.  97 

"What  was  that  move?"!  inquired,  replacing  the 
pieces.  "  That  is  excellent,"  said  I,  after  careful  study 
of  the  indicated  move,  "  stronger,  even,  than  that  sug- 
gested by  me.     I  am  really  afraid  ' '  — 

"  Do  not  say  there  is  no  hope  !  "  said  lalma,  with  min- 
gled feelings  of  pleasure  at  my  praise  of  Olav's  play,  and 
dismay  at  the  prospect  of  inglorious  defeat.  "  Reva  will 
feel  greatly  mortified." 

Had  she,  with  a  woman's  insight,  already  perceived  that 
Reva  was  a  uame  she  could  employ  on  me  to  conjure  with? 
At  all  events,  I  studied  the  situation  with  renewed  atten- 
tion. I  was,  besides,  anxious,  in  my  peculiar  position,  to 
stand  well  in  at  least  one  subject,  and  that,  as  it  seemed, 
of  general  interest.  Yet  there  seemed  but  one  possiljle 
issue  to  the  contest.  Regretfully  1  rose,  to  announce  this 
as  my  decision,  when,  as  I  stood  giving  a  last  look  to  the 
board,  the  solving  idea  suddenly  flashed  upon  me.  Yes, 
—  the  apparently  insignificant  advance  of  that  pawn  would 
convert  defeat  into  victory. 

"  You  see  some  way  ?  "  said  lalma,  who  had  approached 
to  learn  my  decision,  and  marked  the  expression  on  my 
countenance  as  I  reseated  myself. 

I  was  about  to  reply,  when  something  caused  me  to 
look  up.  There,  in  the  doorway,  stood  Reva,  her  lips 
parted  in  eager  expectation. 

"You  have  succeeded !"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  ad- 
vanced into  the  apartment,  and  took  her  stand  beside 
lalma. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  I  quietly.  "Have  you  any  notion 
as  to  what  the  next  move  will  be?  " 

"  1  think  I  have  tried  over  every  feasible  move,"  was 


98  THE    DWTTIAfi;   OR.    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

the  reply.  "  I  sat  up  late  to  no  purpose,  and  was  on  my 
way  to  seek  other  advice,  when  you  so  kindly  came  to 
mj'  assistance.  You  must  excuse  my  hasty  dei)arture  ; 
but  time  was  precious,  and  I  little  suspected  you  were  to 
prove  the  rescuer. 

"That  is  a  strange  move,"  she  remarked  dubiously. 
"  You  must  be  checkmated  in  a  few  moves." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  I,  "whatever  reply  is  made, 
I  am  in  position  to  force  mate  within  four  moves." 

"  How  do  you  reply  to  that?  "  said  she,  capturing  my 
queen,  and  giving  check. 

My  unexpected  reply  to  her  move  crowded  her  game, 
and  led  to  the  predicted  mate. 

"Magnificent!"  exclaimed  Reva  with  sparkling  ej'es. 
"Yet,  though  the  most  obvious,  there  are  other  moves." 

I  soon  satisfied  her  that  the  move  referred  to  was  the 
best  as  well  as  the  most  obvious.  The  moves  duly 
noted,  the  conversation  was  diverted  into  other  channels. 
Though  rarely  joining  in  the  conversation,  —  it  was,  in- 
deed, seldom  safe  for  me  so  to  do,  —  I  was  an  excellent 
listener,  —  a  qualification  that  experience  has  taught  me 
is,  by  no  means,  the  least  adapted  for  securing  good  wiU 
to  its  possessor.  This  habit  of  mine,  adopted  at  this  time, 
though  sorel}'  against  my  will  (how  often  has  a  question, 
trembling  on  my  tongue,  been  kept  back,  solely  from  the 
fear  of  exciting  surprise  !  ) ,  —  this  enforced  taciturnity  of 
mine  gained  for  me  a  most  undue  reputation  for  wisdom. 
My  brief  and  cautiously  worded  replies  were  listened  to 
with  a  respect  that  to  me  bordered  on  the  ludicrous. 

The  conversation  on  this  occasion  was  presently  inter- 
rupted by  the  return  of  the  children  from  school.     They 


A   GAME  AT   CHESS!.  99 

seemed  delighted  to  see  their  cousin  Reva.  Eurcd,  es- 
pecially, hung  on  her,  recounting  the  wonderful  events  of 
the  school-da^'.     Presently  he  said  to  me,  — 

"  I  saw  3'ou  pass  the  school  to-day."  Then,  with  the 
inconsequence  of  childhood,  "  Reva  must  be  very  fond 
of  you." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?"  inquired  I,  as  calmly 
as  might  be,  of  this  enfant  terrible.  As  for  Reva,  I 
could  not  see  her  face.  She  had  stooped  to  arrange 
something  about  the  boy's  sandal. 

"  She  let  you  have  her  curricle,"  was  the  reply,  uttered 
in  a  tone  of  conviction.  "  She  would  not  let  me  go  out 
in  it  by  mj^self,  though  I  love  her  very  much." 

"  It  was  I,  on  the  contrary,  let  her  have  my  new  cur- 
ricle. Come  and  see  it,"  I  added,  willing  to  effect  a 
diversion,  and  went  out  with  the  children. 

Reva  remained  to  dinner.  This  was  of  much  the  same 
character  as,  but  showed  a  pleasant  variation  from,  that 
of  the  previous  day.  While  we  were  sitting  after  dinner, 
a  telephone-call  sounded.  The  signal  being  answered,  a 
voice,  that  of  Olav,  was  heard. 

"I  have  been  studying  your  last  move.  Does  it  sig- 
nify that  you  give  up  the  game?  " 

"  No  !  "  replied  Reva  energetically. 

"Oh!  you  are  there,"  came  the  reply.  "  May  I  play 
on  a  move  or  two?  " 

"As  many  as  you  please,  or  can,"  was  the  answer  of 
the  lively  girl. 

The  next  move  communicated  by  him  was  the  one  we 
expected.  The  retort  nnmediately  sent  back  was  followed 
by  a  considerable  delay.     At  last  came  the  words,  — 


100  THE   nrOTHAS;    OR,   A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

"  I  give  up." 

Some  further  convcr&ation  ensued  between  him  and 
Revii,  by  which  it  appeared  that  Olav  was  to  set  out  ou 
the  following  day  from  Valparaiso  on  his  return  journey, 
lalraa  presently  retired  to  her  room  to  hold  some  tele- 
phonic communication  on  her  own  account.  Reva  made 
a  calculation,  that  by  taking  a  certain  route,  and  travel- 
ling in  his  curricle  at  the  rate  of  two  hundred  and  forty 
miles  a  da}',  her  brother  would  reach  home  in  four  weeks. 

Of  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  till  the  withdrawal  of 
the  ladies,  I  recall  but  little  beyond  the  sayings  and  do- 
ings of  Reva  Diotha,  the  recital  of  which  might  not  par- 
ticularly interest  the  general  reader. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  PHONOGRAPH. 

Utis  and  I  did  not  sit  out  on  the  roof  this  evening. 
He  proposed,  instead,  to  help  me  unpack  my  trunks,  and 
arrange  the  contents.  Hitherto  I  had  scarcely  looked 
into  them  ;  nor,  in  spite  of  my  host's  assurances,  could  I 
gain  any  strong  sense  of  propriety  in  them.  Yet  while 
Utis,  by  the  brilliant  electric  light,  unpacked  those  things 
that,  I  felt  certain,  had  never  been  packed  by  my  hands, 
a  strange  feeling  of  familiarity  with  the  different  objects 
would  grow  upon  me.  Surely  those  books,  writing-imple- 
tpents,  table-ornaments,  and  pictures,  had  once  been  mine. 
All,  however,  had  undergone  a  peculiar  change,  —  a  change 
analogous  to  the  difference  between  my  personal  history 
as  present  to  ray  consciousness,  and  that  attributed  to  me 
by  Utis.  Last  of  all,  he  produced  from  the  second  trunk, 
and  placed  on  the  table,  an  article  having  some  resem- 
blance, both  in  size  and  shape,  to  a  writing-desk  that  was 
once  mine.  On  being  opened,  however,  the  interior  pre- 
sented a  most  unfamiliar  appearance.  It  was  a  phono- 
graph of  the  latest  construction. 

''This  instrument,  or,  rather,  the  first  crude  idea,  was 
known  as  early  as  your  period.     In  its  present  form  it 

101 


102  THE   DTOTITAf^;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

serves  almost  as  a  second  memory.  Its  introduction  into 
legislative  balls,  and  similar  places,  in  the  course  of  the 
twentieth  century,  led  to  many  and  beneficent  changes. 
There  ensued  an  enormous  curtailment  in  the  length  of 
speeches,  simultaneously  with  gi'eat  improvement  both  in 
matter  and  manner.  Orators  found  in  this  a  reporter  that 
could  neither  be  bullied  nor  bribed.  Bad  grammar,  vul- 
gar pronunciation,  disjointed  logic,  —  all  were  reproduced 
with  pitiless  accuracy. 

'•  Would-be  legislators  soon  found  that  it  would  be  need- 
ful, both  to  have  really  something  to  sa}-,  and  to  know 
how  to  sa}'  it,  if  they  would  escape  deserved  ridicule. 
With  wits  sharpened  by  alarm  and  disgust,  they  were  not 
long  in  discovering  grave  constitutional  objections  to  the 
presence  of  the  phonograph  in  the  legislative  chanil)er. 
The}^  held  it  up  to  reprobation  as  an  aristocratic  device 
of  'literary  fellers  and  Sunday-school  politicians,'  — 
phrases  by  which  they  expressed  their  loathing  of  any 
standard  of  knowledge  or  decency  beyond  their  own. 
But  for  once  the  '  practical  pollertishuns,'  as  the}^  styled 
themselves,  found  they  had  made  a  serious  mistake.  The 
people  were  decidedl}'  of  different  opinion  from  them,  and 
let  them  know  it.  The  attempt  to  remove  the  phonograph 
led  to  the  political  extinction  of  the  party  that  tried  to 
interfere  with  free  audience.  The  instrument,  and  the 
metallic  sheets  containing  the  records,  were  placed  under 
special  constitutional  safeguards. 

"  The  effect  upon  oratory  at  first  resembled,  in  some 
degree,  that  produced  upon  epistolary  correspondence  by 
the  general  use  of  the  telegraph.  To  the  one  extreme  of 
careless  verbosity  succeeded  the  opposite  one  of   a  dry 


THE  rnONOGRArn.  103 

concision  bordering  on  obscurity.  Audibility  of  tone  was 
cultivated  at  the  expense  of  all  other  vocal  qualities.  In 
course  of  time,  hou'cver,  it- was  rediscovered,  that,  though 
a  trope  is  not  an  argument,  it  may  be  efficiently  eniplo3'ed 
to  illustrate  an  argument,  or  even  be  used  as  an  elegant 
substitute  for  one." 

"  AYhat  was  the  effect  upon  the  press?"  inquired  I, 
greatly  interested. 

"Upon  the  press,  —  that  is,  the  press  militant, — the 
effect  produced  was  analogous  to  that  of  electric  power 
upon  the  factory  system,  —  not  so  much  extinction  as  or- 
ganic change.  By  means  of  the  phonograph,  the  orator 
was,  to  a  great  extent,  restored  to  the  position  once  occu- 
pied by  a  great  speaker  in  Greece  or  Rome.  Instead  of 
addressing  his  real  audience  by  means  of  the  imperfect 
Tuedium  of  type,  he  knew  that  every  word,  ever}'  tone, 
accent,  and  inflection  of  his  voice,  would  fall,  exactly  as 
uttered,  upon  the  ears  of  listening  millions,  —  might  possi- 
bly thrill  the  ears  and  fire  the  souls  of  a  distant  posterity. 
The  greatest  speeches  were  no  longer  delis^ered  in  public. 
In  the  seclusion  of  his  closet,  standing  or  walking,  un- 
trammelled by  the  presence  of  a  critical  audience,  the 
orator  could  indulge  in  the  wildest  gesticulation,  or  as- 
sume any  position  likely  to  aid  in  the  enunciation  of  his 
ideas.  The  phonograph  recorded  his  words,  which  were 
presently  borne  on  the  wings  of  lightning  to  every  part  of 
the  world." 

"  You  speak  of  oratory  in  the  past  tense,"  said  I. 
"  Is  it  no  longer  cultivated?  " 

"  IMost  great  questions  have  been  so  thoroughly  dis- 
cussed, if  not  settled,"  replied  litis,  "that  oratory,  as 


104  THE    nrOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

implying  an  appeal  to  the  emotions,  is  practically  a  thing 
of  the  past.  As  a  means  of  establishing  a  theorem  in 
exact  science,  an  api)eal  to  the  passions  is  scarcely  api)vo- 
priate.  The  men  of  those  early  periods  seem  to  us  like 
children  passionately  urging  absurd  arguments  to  enforce 
crude  notions.  All  we  desire  in  a  speaker  is,  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  his  subject,  with  exactitude  and  clearness 
of  statement." 

"While  yet  speaking,  he  had  ai)proached  the  phonograph, 
and  made  some  adjustment,  besides  connecting  it  with 
the  tachy graph. 

"  Now  listen,"  he  said,  at  the  same  time  pulling  a  knob. 

To  my  astonishment,  the  early  part  of  the  conversation 
just  related  was  repeated  with  a  precision  of  intonation 
almost  ludicrous.  The  effect  upon  me  of  becoming,  as  it 
were,  a  listener  to  myself,  was  not  unlike  that  said  to  be 
produced  upon  a  savage  b}'  the  first  view  of  himself  in 
a  mirror.  According  as  the  slide  was  moved,  the  tone 
swelled  or  sank ;  though  there  was  a  medium  pitch  of 
maximum  distinctness. 

"  Come  near,"  said  Utis,  as  he  caused  the  sound  to  die 
away  to  an  almost  inaudible  murmur. 

I  approached,  and  found  the  tachygraph  in  bus}'  opera- 
tion. Utis  stopped  the  machine,  drew  out  a  sheet  of  pa- 
per, and  showed  it  to  me  covered  with  printed  characters. 
These,  I  understood,  represented  the  words  just  repeated 
by  the  phonograph  ;  though  I  was  not  able  to  decipher 
the  peculiar  short-hand  in  which  they  were  reproduced. 

"Wonderful!"  I  exclaimed,  as  all  the  advantages  of 
this  invention  rushed  upon  m}'  mind.  Here,  indeed,  was 
every  man  his  own  stenographer  and  printer !     I  was  no 


THE  rnONOGRAPn.  105 

longer  surprised  at  the  hundred  millions  of  volumes  in  the 
great  library.  The  real  wonder  was,  that,  with  sucli  facil- 
ities for  book-making,  their  number  was  comparatively 
so  moderate.  At  my  host's  suggestion,  however,  I  post- 
poned further  trial  of  the  powers  of  the  machine  to  another 
occasion. 

"It  is  past  nine,"  said  Utis,  "and  would  be  time  for 
us  to  retire  if  we  purposed  rising  at  four  o'clock.  For 
a  while,  however,  as  we  shall  need  to  sit  up  somewhat 
later,  I  propose  that  we  do  not  rise  till  six.  In  that  way, 
without  cutting  short  our  evenings  down-stairs,  as  we 
have  done,  I  shall  be  able  to  devote  the  two  hours  be- 
tween nine  and  eleven  to  imparting  the  information  you 
require.  We  shall  have  only  two  hours  of  uiorning  ex- 
ercise, it  is  true  ;  but  we  may  exert  ourselves  the  more 
while  we  are  at  it,  and  take  opportunities  of  exercise  dur- 
ing the  day. 

"  Every  evening,  during  these  hours,  I  will  set  the  pho- 
nograph. You  will  thus  be  enabled  to  go  over  my  iu- 
structions  when  I  am  absent.  These  metallic  sheets  will, 
in  fact,  be  a  permanent  record  of  our  conversations,  to 
which  you  can  refer  at  any  time." 

"  I  should  wish  to  obtain  some  insight  into  your  social 
system,"  said  I,  after  going  through  the  usual  daily  sum- 
mary. "  Some  glimpses  I  have,  but  these  serve  merely 
to  excite  luy  curiosity  to  know  more.  I  understand  that 
all  among  you  are  equal,  sociall}',  politically,  and,  to  a 
large  extent,  in  wealth  also.  Now,  granting  that  such 
a  state  of  things  could  once  be  brought  about,  how  is  it 
made  permanent?  How,  in  fine,  are  you  able  to  arrest 
the  operation  of  that  economic  law,  once  considered  iu- 


lOG  THE   DfOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

cvitable  as  the  law  of  gravitation,  —  tlie  tendency  of  some 
to  rise  above  the  average,  of  others  to  sink  below  it?  " 

"You  have  there  stated  in  a  few  words,"  replied  Utis, 
"  a  question  requiring  volumes  of  history  for  a  fair  an- 
swer. In  the  first  place,  however,  I  would  warn  you  to 
disabuse  your  mind  of  those  crude  generalizations  once 
known  as  economical  laws.  A  few  thousand  years  before 
your  period  it  was,  no  doubt,  regarded  as  an  inevitable 
economical  law,  that  the  stronger  should  eat  the  weaker. 
Yet  you  know,  that,  in  your  time,  numbers  of  fat  and 
tender  weaklings  went  about  fearlessly  in  the  sight  of 
strong  and  hungr}'  men.  A  person  never  beholding  any 
surface  but  that  of  the  ocean  would  be  apt  to  discover 
a  general  law,  that  there  exists  an  inevitable  tendencj^  in 
certain  particles  of  water  to  rise  above  the  general  level, 
and  in  others  to  sink  below  it. 

"  The  society  of  3'our  days,  as  compared  with  that 
now  existing,  was  unstable  as  ocean  compared  with  land. 
All  was  fluctuating,  and  individuals  were  largely  at  the 
mercy  of  circumstances.  Some,  without  effort  on  their 
part,  were  born  to  virtue,  happiness,  and  honor:  others, 
through  no  apparent  fault  of  theirs,  seemed,  born  to  vice, 
misery,  and  degradation.  Yet,  all  imperfect  as  it  was, 
the  civilization  of  your  day  was  far  in  advance  of  that 
of  any  former  age.  Amid  much  wrong,  there  were  gen- 
uine aspirations  after  justice  ;  amid  darkness,  an  earnest, 
though  blind,  groping  toward  light ;  amid  much  sellish- 
ncss,  much  self-sacrifice  and  heroism.  I  believe,  indeed, 
that  could  men  have  become  convinced,  even  at  that  early 
period,  of  a  permanently  beneficial  result  from  their  self- 
sacrifice,   the   possessors   of  what  the  world  had  would 


THE  PnONOGRAPn.  107 

have  been  willing  to  share  equally  with  their  less  fortu- 
nate brethren.  Such  a  partition  would  then,  it  is  true, 
have  resulted  merely  in  disappointment.  The  baser  ele- 
ments of  society  had  first  to  be  sifted  out.  It  was  chiefly 
the  dim  perception  of  this  that  rendered  many  so  hope- 
less of  improvement.  The  gradual  advance  perceptible, 
in  spite  of  many  fluctuations,  in  the  history  of  our  race 
since  that  time,  was  the  effect,  not  of  any  far-reaching 
plan,  but  of  the  earnest  endeavors  of  earnest  men  to 
combat  evils  immediately  pressing  on  their  attention.  At 
last  came  a  time  when  so  much  had  been  effected,  tliat 
the  task  could  be  completed  on  a  prescribed  plan,  and  has 
since  been  carried  towards  completion  with  a  minimum 
waste  of  effort." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

DE   REBUS    ADHUC   CALIGINE  MERSIS. 

What  I  learned  in  regard  to  the  origin  of  the  social 
condition  and  government  of  his  period  was  communi- 
cated to  me  by  Utis  in  a  series  of  conversations.  I  licre 
give  tlie  substance  of  these  conversations,  adhering  to  the 
original  form  as  closely  as  is  permitted  by  tlie  compara- 
tive inferiority  of  our  language  as  a  medium  of  expres- 
sion. The  ideas  then  received,  too,  have  been  modified 
and  enlarged  by  subsequent  reading  and  observation. 

"  The  more  or  less  democratical  forms  of  government," 
he  began,  "that  rose  on  the  ruins  of  the  decayed  mo- 
narchical and  aristocratical  sj'stems  of  your  time,  soon 
showed  symptoms  of  decay.  Based,  as  they  were,  upon 
principles,  some  sound,  others  utterly  false,  they  con- 
tained within  themselves  the  germs  of  dissolution. 
Loudly  claiming  to  be  the  embodiment  of  justice  and 
natural  right,  they  soon  rivalled  the  worst  of  former  des- 
potisms in  corruption,  and  high-handed  disregard  of  indi- 
vidual rights. 

"  Governors,  legislators,  and  judges,  appointed  under 
the  dictation  of  colossal  shar[)ers  and  political  quacks, 
were  naturally  the  pliant  tools  of  those  that  made  them. 
108 


DE   REBUS   ADITUC   CALTGTNE  MER8TS.  109 

The  law,  its  enforcement  and  interpretation,  became 
equally  engines  of  oppression  and  extortion.  As  if  this 
were  not  enough,  weak-minded  enthusiasts  joined  with 
the  toadies,  and  representatives  of  the  criminal  classes,  in 
weakening  the  already  insufficient  safeguards  of  life  and 
property.  The  law  and  its  officers  became  simply  an  or- 
ganization for  favoring  the  escape  of  criminals  from  de- 
served punishment.  In  some  countries,  the  industrious 
classes  actually  disappeared  at  last,  ground  to  powder 
between  the  upper  and  lower  millstones  of  oppressive 
government  and  unchecked  crime.  Learning,  honesty, 
industry,  died  out,  or  took  refuge  in  other  lands.  Soci- 
ety relapsed  to  a  forin  of  barbarism  more  frightful  even 
than  that  of  primitive  ages,  man  being  now  armed  for 
evil  with  a  terriljle  control  over  the  forces  of  nature. 

"  From  this  seething  and  fermenting  mass  were  gradu- 
ally evolved  new  political  organizations.  From  the  ex- 
tremes of  democracy  and  lawlessness,  government,  in 
these  lands,  naturally  reverted  to  various  sj'stems  of  des- 
potism and  repression.  Not  onl}'  was  this  the  sole  refuge 
from  anarchy,  but  it  was  the  only  means  of  preventing  a 
reversion  to  mere  savagery.  Despots,  however,  and  their 
satellites,  do  not  work  for  nothing :  some  one  must  work 
to  supply  them  with  what  they  regard  as  an  adequate 
reward  for  their  arduous  labors.  Rigorous  laws  were  put 
in  operation  to  repress  idleness  among  the  thinned  poi)u- 
lation  left  b}'  terril)le  civil  conflicts.  Industry  and  pi-os- 
perity  revived,  and  even  as  much  education  as  can  flourish 
under  a  jealous  despotism.  Most  acquiesced  readily  in 
the  change.  Better,  they  thought,  the  possiI)ility  of  being 
crushed  at  a  blow  by  an  irresistible  power,  than  to  perish 


110  XnE   DIOTHAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK   AUEAD. 

piecemeal,  devoured  by  political  vermin.  Had  the  in- 
babitauts  of  tliese  countries  occupied  a  planet  by  them- 
selves, they  would,  in  all  probability,  after  passing 
through  the  usual  changes,  gradually  have  raised  them- 
selves to  a  higher  plane  of  civilization  than  before ;  but 
their  despotic  rulers  regarded  with  jealousy  and  fear  the 
countries  where  free  institutions  still  held  their  own. 

"You  must  keep  in  mind,  that  the  series  of  changes 
just  related  did  not  take  place  in  a  day,  nor  in  a  century  ; 
also  that  the  political  disease  ran  its  course  with  greater 
rapidity  and  with  greater  virulence  in  some  countries  than 
in  others.  Certain  nations  served  as  frightful  examples 
to  others. 

"On  these  latter  the  warning  was  not  always  lost.  The 
better  disposed  of  their  citizens  had  time  to  take  alarm, 
on  seeing  the  downward  course  of  their  neighbors.  They 
saw  the  folly  of  being  led  by  party  cries  into  the  support 
of  knaves.  They  resolved  no  longer  to  be  oppressed 
under  the  forms  of  libert}',  and  robbed  in  the  name  of 
law. 

"In  the  political  upheaval  that  ensued,  the  phonograph 
played  much  the  same  important  part  once  filled  by  the 
printing-press  during  the  great  religious  upheaval  of  the 
sixteenth  centur}-.  Charlatans  no  longer  found  it  so  easy 
to  palm  themselves  off  as  statesmen,  when  their  every 
legislative  utterance  was  spoken,  as  it  were,  in-  the  ears 
of  their  assembled  constituents. 

"  In  the  excitement  of  the  times,  many  things  were  done 
that  a  cooler  posterity  has  not  approved.  Here,  in  the 
Ignited  States,  for  exami)le,  the  eighth  article  of  the  Con- 
stitution was  abrogated  by  au  euormous  majority,  iu  order 


DE  REBUS  ADTIUC   CALIGINE  MERSIS.  Ill 

to  attain  the  means  of  bringing  to  justice  tlie  worst  of  the 
monopolists  and  their  legislative  tools.  A  thorough  weed- 
ing of  the  political  garden  was  effected.  By  an  important 
law,  rigidly  enforced  by  a  special  tribunal,  every  public 
officer  became  responsible,  in  means  and  person,  for  tlie 
due  fulfilment  of  his  duties.  He  that  neglected  the  re- 
covery of  a  fine  due  the  State,  was  made  to  pay  it  from 
his  own  property :  he  that  allowed  a  prisoner  to  escape, 
was  made  to  suffer  the  full  penalty  in  his  stead.  Trial  by 
jury,  having  fallen  into  utter  contempt,  was  abolished, 
except  in  political  trials. 

"In  proportion  as  the  consequences  of  the  general  re- 
laxation of  the  bonds  of  law  and  morality  among  certain 
nations  became  evident,  the  temper  of  the  peoi)le  over 
here  became  stern,  almost  savage.  Offences  against  the 
person  were  punished  according  to  the  lex  talionis.  The 
murderer  was  put  to  deatli,  as  nearly  as  possible  in 
the  manner  he  had  slain  his  victim.  In  atrocious  cases 
he  was  handed  over  to  tlic  mercies  of  ph3'siological  ex- 
perimentists,  to  endure  what  the}'  sajv  fit  in  tlie  interests 
of  the  humanity  he  had  violated. 

"An  earnest  attempt,  finally  successful,  was  made  to 
stamp  out  tlie  criminal  classes.  The  thief  found  guilty 
for  the  third  time  was  put  to  death  as  incorrigilde,  pain- 
lessly as  might  be,  but  inexorabl}-.  The  laz}'  and  shiftless 
were  gathered  into  what  they  soon  found  were  workhouses 
in  more  than  name,  means  being  taken  that  effectually 
put  it  out  of  their  power  to  curse  socict}'  with  a  progeny 
similar  to  themselves.  Offences  against  the  famil}'  rela- 
tion, justly  regarded  as  the  foundation  of  the  State,  were 
visited    with   such   punishment   as,    in    conjunction   witli 


112  THE   DfOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

other  causes,  soon  rendered  offences  of  that  nature  among 
the  rarest.  These  severe  measures  elicited,  at  tirst,  h)ud 
shrieks  from  the  maudlin  sympathizers  with  crime,  —  the 
Hugos  and  Diekenses  of  the  period.  But,  finding  them- 
selves treated  with  contemptuous  disregard,  they  finally 
held  their  peace. 

"The  two  sets  of  nations  developing  thus  on  such  di- 
vergent lines  became  known,  finally,  as  Absolutists  and 
Liberals.  The  Absolutists  believed,  or  pretended  to 
believe,  that  the  rule  of  an  intelligent  despot  is  the  high- 
est type  of  government.  This  theory  found  eloquent 
advocates,  whose  zeal  was  not  allowed  to  go  unrewarded. 
The  Liberals  held  the  opposite  view,  but  never  found  it 
worth  while  arguing  the  matter. 

"  For  centuries  Absolutists  and  Liberals,  in  spite  of  oc- 
casional bickerings,  and  a  few  trials  of  strength,  continued 
to  develop,  each  in  their  own  way  attaining  a  high  degree 
of  material  prosperity.  But  at  last  arose  a  great  mili- 
tar}'  genius.  By  a  series  of  successful  campaigns,  he 
reduced  all  the  Absolutist  monarchies  under  one  huge 
empire.  He  next  attacked  and  overwhelmed,  in  spite  of 
a  desperate  resistance,  the  Liberal  nations  of  the  Old 
AVorld.  It  was  during  this  conflict  that  London  was 
reduced  to  a  heap  of  ruins. 

"Fired  with  the  hope  of  universal  empire,  be  next  re- 
solved on  the  subjugation  of  America.  His  fleets,  armed 
with  the  tremendous  inventions  of  scientific  warfare,  over- 
bore all  opposition,  and  landed  an  immense  army  upon 
our  shores.  Never  was  the  cause  of  liberty  in  greater 
peril.  For  almost  a  full  3'ear  he  held  the  whole  Atlantic 
region ;  but  liually,  at  a  cost  still  frightful  to  recall,  the 


DE  REBUS   ADUUC   CALTGTNE   MERITS.  113 

invader  was  first  cheeked,  tlieu  driven  back  toward  tlie 
coast,  and,  at  last,  captured  witli  what  remained  of  his 
army.  The  vanquished  monarch  would  fain  have  prated 
of  generosity  to  a  fallen  foe  ;  but  the  gray-haired  farmer, 
whom  the  course  of  events  had  raised  to  the  dictatorship, 
took  no  such  view.     He  sternly  replied,  — 

"'This  has  been  no  childish  game.  Two  millions  of 
our  people  have  perished.  Your  success  meant  death  to 
us :  ours  means  death  to  you,  and  the  system  you  repre- 
sent.' 

"The  dictator  kept  his  word.  Within  six  mouths  he 
carried  out  his  threat  by  hanging,  in  his  own  capital,  the 
'  Last  of  the  Despots,'  in  company  with  all  his  ministers 
and  chief  officers.  There  had  been  but  slight  resistance. 
The  nations  joyfully  accepted  the  free  institutions  for 
which  they  had  long  secretly  pined.  Despotism  had 
received  its  final  blow.  A  sort  of  federal  union  of 
nations  was  then  formed,  by  which  all  became  pledged  to 
preserve  a  republican  form  of  government  throughout  the 
world,  and  to  guarantee  to  each  nation  the  integrity  of 
its  territory,  even  amicable  arrangements  for  transfer  or 
union  being  subject  to  the  approval  of  all. 

"  Since  then,  the  progress  of  mankind  in  good  gov- 
ernment has  been  peaceful  and  continuous.  The  stern 
temper  generated  by  the  long  struggle  between  rival  prin- 
ciples gradually  softened  away ;  though  the  maxims, 
'Resist  the  beginnings  of  evil,'  and  '  Mercy  to  the  bad 
is  cruelty  to  the  good,'  have  become  settled  principles  of 
action. 

"Our  main  reliance,  after  all,  is  upon  education.  The 
training  of  the  young  is  regarded  as  the  one  great  duty, 


lU  TTTK    DWTUASi;    OR.    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

both  of  the  family  and  of  the  State.  Ha\ing  no  arniy, 
no  navy,  no  expensive  hierarchy  of  public  functionaries, 
we  are  able  to  devote  a  great  part  of  our  energies  and 
resources  to  this  most  important  of  duties.  The  acquisi- 
tion of  the  knowledge  to  be  obtained  from  books,  though 
by  no  means  neglected,  we  regard  as  the  least  important 
branch  of  education.  Regarding  a  sound,  equally  devel- 
oped body  as  the  foundation  of  all  the  rest,  we  impart  to 
our  youth  of  both  sexes  a  twofold  physical  training. 
The  jesthetic  training  includes  such  exercises,  by  means 
of  formal  gymnastics,  games,  and  a  species  of  compli- 
cated dance  somewhat  resembling  the  military  evolutions 
of  ancient  times,  as  tend  to  impart  activity  and  grace. 
Mere  muscular  strength  we  leave  to  follow  as  it  may ; 
yet  we  know,  from  various  sources,  that  we  have  degen- 
erated neither  in  strength  nor  stature.  The  industrial 
training  includes  such  training  in  the  use  of  tools  and 
instruments  as  shall  make  the  hands  the  reliable  servants 
of  the  brain. 

"  In  our  system  of  mental  culture,  including  moral, 
intellectual,  and  aesthetic  training,  we  combine  the  advan- 
tages of  private  with  those  of  public  tuition.  Morals, 
including  politeness,  self-government,  the  acquisition  of 
lofty  ideals  of  conduct,  we  regard  as  specially,  though 
not  exclusivel}',  the  province  of  family  training.  At 
home,  too,  the  children  go  over  their  book-lessons  with 
the  guidance  and  assistance  of  their  elders.  This  task, 
or,  rather,  this  most  delightful  of  our  occupations,  the 
parents  share,  according  to  individual  preference  for  cer- 
tain studies  ;  though  either  would  be  able  and  glad  to 
undertake  the  whole. 


DE   REBFS   ADnUC   CATjaiNE    MERSIS.  115 

"  At  school  much  of  the  time  is  occupied  iu  that  iudus- 
trial  tiaiuing  already  referred  to,  aud  iu  the  i)racti(,-:J 
applicatiou  of  the  mechanical  and  scientific  principles 
that  underlie  our  industrial  system.  At  special  schools, 
when  arrived  at  a  suitable  age,  the  young  receive  instruc- 
tion in  the  handicraft  they  intend  to  practise  during 
life." 

"  Do  all  learn  a  mechanical  occupation?  "  I  inquired. 

"All,  Avithout  exception." 

"  But  the  children  of  wealthy  parents?  "  I  asked. 

"They  too,"  was  the  reply.  "  At  a  very  early  period 
it  was  found  that  the  excessive  accumulation  of  wealth 
in  certain  families  led  to  very  serious  evils.  Of  those, 
that,  without  any  merit  or  exertion  on  their  part,  became 
rich  by  inheritance,  it  was  found,  that,  for  one  useful  to 
society  iu  proportion  to  his  riches,  there  were  dozens  of 
mere  drones  inflated  with  the  idiotic  pride  of  uselessnoss, 
besides  many  actively-  noxious  by  their  vices.  The  power 
of  bequest  was,  accordingly,  limited  by  law.  After  sev- 
eral fluctuations,  it  settled  down  to  this  :  no  person,  how- 
ever wealthy,  was  allowed  to  bequeath  to  any  one  person 
more  than  a  certain  amount.  This,  in  the  values  of  j'our 
period,  might  be  estimated  at  about  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars. It  was  reasoned,  that  with  a  good  education,  and  a 
capital  of  the  specified  amount,  if  a  person  could  not 
manage  to  make  a  living,  liis  living  or  dying  was  of  very 
little  consequence  to  the  community." 

"  But  that  was  rank  socialism  !  "  said  I,  to  whom,  for 
special  reasons,  such  doctrines  were  most  distasteful. 

"The  owner,"  replied  Utis,  "  was  not  deprived  of  his 
propert}',  nor  even  of   the   power  of   bequeathing   it  in 


116  THE   DfOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

other  ways.  But  society  considered  itself  justified  in  for- 
bidding tlie  owner  to  employ  liis  wealtli  in  a  way  tliat 
experience  had  shown  to  be  injurious,  nay,  dangerous,  to 
the  community." 

"  Was  not  this  found  seriously  to  check  the  desire  to 
accumulate  ? ' ' 

"It  would  have  been  desirable  had  it  done  so  to  a 
greater  extent  than  was  the  case,"  replied  Utis.  "  Few, 
with  all  their  efforts,  can  in  a  lifetime  accumulate  so 
much  as  to  be  hampered,  in  any  way,  by  such  a  law.  As 
for  the  accumulation  of  colossal  fortunes,  that  was  a 
result  to  be  feared  rather  than  favored.  Men,  after  all, 
amass  great  wealth,  rather  from  favoring  circumstances 
than  as  the  result  of  far-reaching  plans  having  any  refer- 
ence to  posterity.  The  result  of  the  above-mentioned 
laws,  adopted  by  the  community  solely  as  a  means  of 
self-defence,  was  not  the  cessation  of  saving,  but  tlic 
more  equal  diffusion  of  wealth.  Some,  after  providing 
for  their  immediate  family  and  more  distant  relatives,  as 
far  as  tlie  law  permitted,  would  leave  the  residue  for  some 
public  object.  Others,  desirous  of  perpetuating  some 
great  business  in  their  name,  would  distribute  shares 
among  the  most  faithful  of  their  emplo^^ees,  leaving  the 
control  in  the  hands  of  their  own  famil}'.  In  this  way, 
what  would  once  have  been  restricted  to  the  support  of  a 
single  family  in  superfluous  luxury,  became  the  comfort- 
able maintenance  of  a  number." 

"If  so  much  time  is  devoted  to  industrial  training," 
was  my  next  objection,  "there  cannot  be  much  left  for 
the  culture  to  be  obtained  from  books." 

"  Your  remark  is  based  upon  a  misconception,"  was  the 


DE  REBUS   ADnUC   CALTGINE   MERSIS.  117 

response.  "For  one  thing,  onr  indnstrial  is  also  onr 
professional  training,  to  whicii.  even  in  your  period,  a 
certain  amount  of  time  must  have  been  devoted.  Our 
children,  besides,  have  many  advantages  over  those  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  By  the  aid  of  a  rational  alpha- 
bet, though  they  do  not  learn  to  read  in  one  week,  yet 
they  do  acquire  the  power  of  spelling  any  word  as  pro- 
nounced in  our  language.  Not  being  obliged  to  fritter 
away  our  energies  on  the  study  of  other  tongues,  we  are 
able  to  devote  the  more  time  and  care  to  the  master}-  of 
our  own." 

"I  can  easily  conceive,"  said  I,  "that  the  study  of 
what,  in  my  time,  were  called  the  classical  tongues,  has 
passed  away  ;  since  their  influence  on  thought  and  expres- 
sion must  have  become  extensivel}-  diluted  by  su])sequent 
influences.  But  do  you  not  study  other  languages  con- 
temi)oraneous  with  your  own?  " 

"  How  can  there  be  more  than  one  living  language?" 
he  exclaimed  with  some  surprise.  Then,  recollecting 
himself,  he  added,  "  I  ought  to  have  remembered  the 
state  of  matters  in  your  day.  For  us,  however,  it  is  as 
difficult  to  conceive  of  civilized  man  differing  so  widely  in 
language,  measures,  and  similar  matters,  as  for  you  to 
realize  the  state  of  things  when  ever}-  district  was  inhab- 
ited by  hostile  tribes,  differing  in  almost  every  respect." 

' '  "What  an  enormous  economy  of  time  and  mental 
energy!  "  I  exclaimed,  thinking  with  regret  of  the  years 
of  effort  spent  on  language  alone.  "  But  do  none  study 
any  language  but  their  mother-tongue?  " 

"Only  those  that  do  so  for  special  purposes.  Your 
father,  for  example,  was  well  acquainted  with  the  ancient 


118       Tnr.  DiOTnAfi;  or,  a  far  look  ahead. 

Anglian  current  in  the  latter  part  of  the  second  chilia-'l. 
]>ut  such  knowledge  as  liis  and  yours  is  as  rare  as  was, 
in  that  time,  the  ability  to  decipher  Accad  or  Ilimaritic 
inscriptions." 

"But  what  language  is  this  I  am  now  speaking?"  I 
inquired  with  surprise.  I  had  hitherto  spoken  and  under- 
stood the  speech  of  those  around  me  with  all  the  uncon- 
sciousness of  a  child,  who  utters  his  thoughts  without 
giving  a  thought  to  the  means  of  utterance. 

"  The  present  universal  language  is  based  upon  the 
Anglian  of  your  day  much  as  that  was  based  upon  Saxon. 
The  introduction  of  a  rational  orthography,  at  a  period 
when  it  was  already  the  mother-tongue  of  more  than  one 
Inmdred  millions  of  people,  led  to  its  rapid  adoption  as 
a  universal  means  of  communication.  The  language  first 
became  modified  in  the  direction  of  greater  grammatical 
simplicity,  subsequently  in  increased  harmon}'  of  pronun- 
ciation. The  greatest  change  arose  from  the  enormous 
increase  of  the  vocabulary  by  the  adoption  of  a  groat 
variety  of  synonymes  from  many  languages.  In  your 
time  there  wore  about  a  dozen  different  words  signifying 
a  dwelling.  Now  there  are  more  than  a  hundred  ;  each, 
when  appropriately  employed,  convening  a  different  shade 
of  meanuig. 

"Such  a  language,"  he  continued,  "necessarily  de- 
mands careful  study  if  its  full  capabilities  are  to  be 
elicited.  Arithmetic,  again,  is  greatly  simplified  among 
us  b}'  the  universal  use  of  the  duodecimal  system.  No 
fractions  but  duodecimals  being  employed,  our  entire 
arithmetical  instruction  is  comprised  in  a  thorough  drill 
in  the  use  of  the  four  fuudameutal  rules  and  their  appli- 


T)E  REBVfi  Annua   CALTGTNE   MERRIf^.  119 

cations.  A  year  is  found  amply  sufllcient  for  this,  the 
more  so  because  intricate  calculations  are,  for  the  most 
part,  performed  by  the  aid  of  machines.  The  same  econ- 
omy of  effort  is  observed  throughout  the  other  branches 
of  pure  mathematics,  and  all  sciences  worthy  of  the 
name  are  now  but  branches  of  mixed  mathematics. 

"  The  acquaintance  with  the  tools  of  knowledge  is  usu- 
ally obtained  by  the  age  of  fifteen.  At  this  age  the 
boy,  —  I  say  boy,  as  I  shall  first  speak  of  his  further 
training ;  though  up  to  this  point  boys  and  girls  receive 
the  same  training,  —  the  bo}',  I  say,  is  expected  to  have 
a  fair  master}-  of  language  as  an  instrument  of  expres- 
sion, and  a  slight  knowledge  of  literature.  I  say  a  slight 
knowledge,  because  he  has  hitherto  been  carefully  kept 
from  indiscriminate  reading.  A  thorough  knowledge  of 
a  few  books  is  thought  of  moi'C  value  than  a  skimming 
over  many.  He  is  expected  also  to  possess  all  the  mathe- 
matical knowledge  required  for  his  further  studies.  In 
addition  to  drawing,  photography,  and  similar  aids,  he 
has  acquired  the  management  of  the  most  important 
tools,  and  has  had  practice  in  the  workmg  of  metals  and 
other  materials.     His  handicraft  is  now  chosen  for  him." 

"  Can  he  not  choose  for  himself?  "  I  inquired. 

"The  matter  is  arranged  somewhat  as  follows:  if  my 
son,  for  example,  wishes  to  follow  my  pursuit,  he  may  do 
so ;  since  there  are  many  evident  advantages  in  so  doing, 
But  if,  as  is  often  the  case,  he  does  not  wish  to  do  so, 
he  adopts  the  line  of  work  assigned  to  him.  A  great  part 
of  the  misery  of  ancient  times  arose  from  waste  of  various 
kinds.  Not  the  least  of  these  was  the  waste  of  misdi- 
rected  effort,  resulting  in  the  overcrowding  of  callings. 


120  TflR    DfOTrfAF!;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   ATJEAD. 

The  avoidaDCG  of  waste  in  every  way  is  one  of  the  chief 
means  tliat  cnal)lcs  us  to  live  in  comfort  with  so  much 
less  exertion  tlian  the  people  of  ancient  times.  Care- 
fully gathered  statistics  enable  us  to  estimate,  not  only 
the  amount  of  any  product  on  hand  at  a  given  time,  but 
also  the  number  of  new  producers  of  any  class  that  will 
be  required  within  a  given  number  of  years.  Guided  by 
these  estimates,  we  avoid  over-production  in  either  direc- 
tion. A  certain  mimber  of  each  class  of  employments 
is  assigned  to  each  district  every  year,  and  divided  among 
the  boys  of  the  proper  age.  Much  latitude  is  permissi- 
ble, however,  in  the  carrying  out  of  this  law  ;  and  none 
is  made  to  adopt  a  trade  to  which  he  has  a  decided 
objection. 

"As  a  great  part  of  every  trade  is  performed  by  ma- 
chinery, and  the  boys  have  already  great  manual  skill,  a 
year  sullices  for  them  to  master  their  handiciaft.  Then 
begins  the  serious  study  of  his  professional,  skilled,  or 
artistic  pursuit." 

"  Has  every  one  two  occupations?  "  I  inquired. 

"Yes,  each  follows  two  employments;  some,  like  my- 
self, three." 

"  What  are  those?  "  inquired  I. 

"My  handicraft  is,  as  you  have  seen,  liolt-making, — 
that  of  my  father  before  me.  By  profession  I  am  a  phy- 
sician. But  there  is  so  little  call  for  my  advice  in  my 
si)ecialty,  that  first  as  an  amusement,  now  as  a  business, 
I  make  the  finer  parts  of  microscopes.  You  have  seen 
my  tools.  Ulmene,  again,  has  for  handicraft,  weaving. 
By  a  curious  reversion  to  the  practice  of  primitive  ages, 
the  making  of  all  textile  fabrics  is  now  the  peculiar  occu- 


DE  REBUS   ADIIUC   CALIGINE   MERSIS.  121 

pation  of  woman.  lalraa,  as  3'ou  may  know,  is  a  stock- 
ing-weaver. Her  artistic  pursuit  is  photograplij-,  in  wliicli 
slie  shows  no  mean  skill.  You  must  have  her  show  you 
her  workroom,  and  some  specimens  of  her  work. 

"  Is  each  allowed  to  choose  his  artistic  employment?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Yes :  that  is  left  entirely  to  the  taste  of  the  indi- 
vidual concerned.  Thus,  Ulmene  from  childhood  showed 
an  unusual  aptitude  for  music.  You  have  heard  her 
play.  Urged  on  by  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  she 
poure^l  out  that  flood  of  harmony.  By  a  device  on  the 
principle  of  the  phonograph,  ever3-  note  was  correctly 
recorded,  so  that  she  is  enabled  at  leisure  to  correct 
and  improve  what  was  poured  out  in  a  moment  of 
inspiration.  Being  in  no  haste  to  publish,  she  will 
probably  spend  a  year  in  polishing  that  first  impulsive 
effort." 

"Reva  Diotha,"  I  could  not  refrain  from  inquiring,  — 
"  what  are  her  employments?  " 

"  Reva,"  said  Utis,  "  is  a  peculiar  girl,  with  somewhat 
boyish  tastes.  She  passes  her  early  morning-hours  in 
brass-turning.  Her  work  is  of  wonderful  finish,  and  I 
have  often  been  glad  of  her  assistance  in  mj-  specialty. 
The  afternoon  she  devotes  to  the  artistic  chasing  of  tlie 
clasps  for  those  silken  girdles,  —  the  most  expensive  arti- 
cle of  feminine  attire." 

"  Girls  are  permitted,  then,  to  follow  such  masculine 
emploj'monts  as  brass-turning?  "  said  I. 

"  Boys  and  girls  have  an  equal  right  to 'enter  any  em- 
ployment. By  tacit  consent,  however,  weaving  has  been 
conceded    to   woman   as  being  neat,   and  demanding'-    no 


122  THE    D/OTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

great  muscular  exertion.  No  boy  would  dare  the  ridi- 
cule caused  l)y  his  infringing  on  woman's  work.  A  girl 
willing  to  soil  her  hands  with  men's  work  is  merely 
thought  odd. 

"  Keva's  mother  died  in  giving  her  birth,  and  her  father 
has  never  quite  recovered  from  the  shock.  The  girlish 
love  that  would  have  been  her  mother's  is  shared  between 
her  father  and  brother,  to  both  of  whom  she  bears  an 
extraordinary  affection.  It  was  in  order  to  be  in  their 
company  as  much  as  possible  that  she  elected  to  learn 
their  craft.  Her  father,  a  silent,  self-contained  man,  is 
regarded  as  one  of  the  greatest  of  living  mathematicians. 
It  is  said  that  there  are  only  a  dozen  people,  or  so,  in  the 
woi'ld,  capable  of  fuU^'  api)reciating  his  last  work.  At 
present  he  is  engaged  on  a  more  popular  subject,  —  the 
history  of  his  favorite  science.  The  tender  affection 
Reva  bears  that  father  seems  to  leave  no  room  for  other 
love.  You  are  by  no  means  the  first  for  whom  she  has 
declmed  to  bind  up  her  pretty  dark-brown  locks." 

Utis  smiled  as  he  uttered  those  words,  while  his  eyes 
twinkled  witli  a  quiet  humor.  Then,  noting  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  he  bade  me  good-night,  and  left  me  to  dream 
of  Reva  Diotha. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AN   EXCURSION. 

DuRTNO  an  interval  in  the  labor  of  the  following  morn- 
ing, litis  informed  me  that  business  called  him  that  day 
to  Nuiorc.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  he  would  make 
the  journey  ])y  rail.  But  he  now  proposed  to  go  ])y  cur- 
ricle, in  order  to  afford  me  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the 
country. 

Soon  after  the  morning  concert,  accordingly,  we  set 
out  at  an  easy  rate  of  about  fifteen  miles  an  hour.  I 
could  not  suHiciently  admire  the  uniform  smoothness  of 
the  roads,  the  high  cultivation  of  the  land,  and  the  gen- 
eral air  of  completeness  m  every  thing.  Observing  that 
the  ground,  wherever  visible,  was  as  moist  as  if  rain  liad 
fallen,  which  I  knew  not  to  be  the  case,  I  inquired  the 
reason. 

"  That,"  said  Utis,  "  is  the  effect  of  irrigation.  When- 
ever rain  does  not  afford  a  sufficient  supply,  the  water 
stored  up,  as  I  before  mentioned,  is  let  out  between  the 
furrows.  ^Ye  have  attained,  it  is  true,  to  a  certain  con- 
trol over  the  ram-sui^ply  ;  but  that  control  extends  rather 
to  tlie  regulation  of  tiie  general  average  than  of  tlie 
aupply  in  detail.     Irrigation  is  tlie  basis  of  our  agricul- 

123 


124  THE   DfOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AH  EAT). 

tnre.  "Without  that,  every  thing  is,  to  a  great  extent,  a 
matter  of  chance.  With  irrigation,  we  not  only  secure 
the  utmost  yield  from  a  rich  soil,  but  raise  fair  crops 
from  almost  pure  sand." 

My  attention  was  frequently  called,  as  we  sped  along, 
to  spots  of  high  historic  interest.  But  to  me  the  names 
were  without  interest,  awoke  no  associations  ;  even  as  to 
Alfred,  if  permitted  to  revisit  the  land  he  loved  so  well, 
and  so  well  defended,  Hastings,  Runnymede,  Marston 
Moor,  would  be  but  empty  sounds. 

On  reaching  the  summit  of  the  highest  ground  inter- 
vening between  us  and  the  city,  Ave  came  in  view  of  what 
I  supposed,  at  first,  to  be  an  extensive  lake,  glittering  in 
the  rays  of  the  morning  sun. 

"  That  is  the  roof  of  the  Winter  Garden,"  was  the  in- 
formation I  received.  "  We  can  spare  the  time  for  a 
brief  inspection." 

Those  who  have  seen  the  so-called  Cr3-stal  Palace  at 
Sydenham  may  form  some  faint  conception  of  the  im- 
mense structure  now  before  us.  Imagine  a  surface  of 
fully  one  hundred  acres,  imder  one  roof  of  ualin.  In 
general,  the  height  of  the  roof  was  not  more  than  thirty 
feet;  but,  in  places,  it  rose  to  a  height  suflicient  to  en- 
close palms  and  other  tropical  trees  of  the  loftiest  species. 
These,  however,  were  confined  to  a  comparatively  small 
area  of  the  entire  enclosure. 

In  some  places  extensive  areas  were  laid  down  under 
permanent  sward.  P!)lsewhere  were  seen  vineyards  and 
orchards.  The  vines  and  fruit-trees  in  these  were  so 
trained  as  not  to  blossom  till  November,  when  the  whole 
area  was  covered  in  and  heated  to  a  moderate  tempera- 


AN   EXCUR.^rOX.  125 

tnro.  At  (ho  time  of  my  visit,  liowovor,  the  grontor  pnrt 
of  the  ground  was  under  eroi)s,  —  the  second  of  the  year, 
as  I  was  given  to  understand.  After  this  second  ci'op 
was  harvested,  the  ground  would  again  be  carefully  tilled, 
and  planted  with  crops  requiring  much  manual  attention. 
During  the  winter  many  people,  advised  to  do  so  liy 
their  physicians,  took  up  their  residence  under  this  gigan- 
tic roof.  Houses  were,  of  course,  unnecessary;  but 
light  tents  were  set  up  for  the  sake  of  the  desired  pri- 
vacy. Here,  in  an  equable  temperature,  never  allowed  to 
rise  above  seventy  degrees  Fahrenheit,  they  pursued,  for 
the  most  part,  their  usual  occupations,  and  amused  them- 
selves with  gardening.  Long  experience  had  enabled 
them  so  to  adjust  the  proportions  of  plant-life  and  ani- 
mal-life under  the  vast  enclosure,  that  the  atmosphere 
within  always  remained  pure  and  health-giving. 

Being  here  within  easy  reach  of  their  friends,  the 
Winter  Garden  being  also  frequently  made  the  scene  of 
outdoor  festivities  not  permitted  elsewhere  by  the  season, 
the  inmates  enjoyed  all  the  benefit  of  a  residence  in  a 
mild  climate  without  the  separation  from  loved  persons 
and  associations  that  often  more  than  neutralizes  the 
benefit  of  climate. 

I  may  mention,  in  this  connection,  that  the  winter  cli- 
mate of  the "  North-Atlantic  region  had,  from  various 
causes,  become  greatly  ameliorated  from  its  present  se- 
verity. The  winter  climate  of  Nuiorc  had  thus  come 
greatly  to  resemble  that  of  Northern  Italy.  The  orange, 
the  fig,  the  pomegranate,  and  the  citron  were  as  much  at 
home  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  as  are  now  the  peach 
and  the  vine.     Many  species  of  bamboo,  and  other  useful 


126  THE   nrOTfTAS;    OR.    A   FAR   LOOK  AUFAD. 

or  ornameutal  plants  similavlj'  acclimatized,  would  at 
times,  unexpectedly  meeting  my  eye,  make  me  duubt  for 
a  moment  whether  these  were  really  the  ouce  familiar 
banks  of  the  Mohegau. 

Yet,  comparatively  mild  as  the  climate  had  become,  it 
must  have  been  pleasant  to  resort,  on  occasion,  to  these 
winter-gardens,  to  feast  the  eye,  if  only  for  a  brief  space, 
with  the  sight  of  orchard  and  orange-grove  in  full  bloom, 
or  covered  with  rich  fruit,  in  the  dead  of  winter.  Here, 
too,  was  kept  an  extensive  collection  of  strange  animals. 
The  larger  carnivora,  it  is  true,  had  long  since  become 
extinct  as  the  mammoth ;  all  attempts  at  preserving 
specimens  in  captivity  having  ultimately  failed.  There 
were,  however,  fine  specimens  of  the  elephant,  the  camel, 
and  other  semi-domestic  animals.  But  the  great  attrac- 
tion, the  glory  of  the  garden,  were  the  herds  of  cows 
and  of  horses,  so  familiar  by  name  in  the  early  history 
of  mankind,  but  now  never  seen  except  in  such  collec- 
tions. 

It  was  not  long  after  leaving  this  charming  spot,  of 
which  I  had  to  content  myself  with  a  hasty  inspection, 
when  the  city  began  to  show  in  the  distance.  Soon  the 
faint  luim  became  more  audible  as  it  was  borne  to  our 
ears  on  the  sea-breeze  that  tempered  the  warmth  of  the 
hot  July  sun. 

"We  entered  the  city  by  one  of  the  avenues  assigned  to 
the  use  of  curricles.  This  was  called  the  Avenue  of 
Sciences.  The  emblematic  statues,  at  the  cross-streets, 
represented  "the  various  sciences  in  the  persons  of  the 
two,  one  of  each  sex,  who  had  most  highly  contributed 
to  the  advancement  of  that  science. 


AN  EXCURSION.  127 

Tlie  aspect  of  tins  great  thoroughfare  was  much  the 
same  as  that  of  the  street  I  had  first  seen.  The  like 
ranges  of  lofty  buildings,  with  their  columned  arcades, 
extended  seaward  in  long  perspective.  Similar  throngs 
of  pedestrians  passed  along  the  colonnades,  or  over  the 
bridges  that  spanned  the  street.  No  pedestrian  tres- 
passed on  the  central  causeway,  which  was  thronged  with 
curricles  in  rapid  motion,  though  not  so  rapid  as  in  the 
open  country.  I  had  myself  guided  my  curricle  till  we 
entered  the  city :  then  I  was  glad  to  relinquish  the  tiller 
to  the  more  experienced  hands  of  my  companion. 

AVhen  we  had  proceeded  down  town  to  about  where 
Union  Square  now  stands,  Utis  drew  up  beside  the  curb- 
stone, behind  a  long  line  of  empty  curricles.  Following 
his  guidance,  I  ascended  with  him  to  the  topmost  story  of 
the  building  before  which  we  had  halted.  On  emerging 
from  the  elevator,  we  found  ourselves  on  the  roof,  at  a 
height  to  which  the  sounds  of  the  busy  world  below  as- 
cended only  as  a  faint  murmur.  The  change  of  scene 
had  all  the  suddenness  of  a  theatrical  transformation.  It 
was  like  being  at  once  transported  from  the  midst  of 
Broadway  at  its  busiest  to  the  calm  of  an  unfrequented 
islet  in  the  Southern  Ocean. 

The  general  aspect  of  all  around  me  might  have  lent 
itself  to  such  an  illusion.  Here  we  found  ourselves  in 
the  midst  of  trees,  flowers,  and  carpet-like  sward.  Those 
that  remained  in  the  city  in  charge  of  the  buildings,  or 
confined  there  by  other  duties,  cut  off,  with  their  families, 
from  the  ordinary  delights  of  the  country,  had  here  cre- 
ated for  themselves  a  peculiar  landscape. 

It  is  difficult  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  scene.     Imagine 


123         THE  DFOTHAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

Ions;  strips  of  verdure,  limited  in  width  to  aliout  thirty 
yards,  Init  exteudiug  in  length  for  miles.  l*arallel  with 
these,  and  connected  with  them  by  shorter  strips,  were 
similar  long  stretches  of  garden,  extending  to  where,  in 
the  horizon,  they  narrowed  to  converging  lines.  The 
verdure-clad  atolls  of  the  Pacific  would  afford,  perhaps, 
the  nearest  approach  to  their  appearance,  if  we  could 
picture  to  ourselves  those  atolls  as  fenced  in  by  balus- 
trades of  stone  having  on  the  farther  side,  not  the  glassy 
ocean,  but  a  precipitous  chasm.  At  the  point  where  we 
had  emerged  into  this  aerial  garden  we  might  be  about 
two  miles  from  its  southern  extremit}'. 

"I  have  some  professional  business  to  attend  to,"  said 
Utis,  after  indicating  to  me  the  points  of  interest  in  the 
landscape.  "Meanwhile  you  may  proceed  leisurely  to- 
ward the  tower  you  see  at  the  seaward  extremity  of  tliis 
garden.  As  there  is  a  fine  view  from  the  top,  and  other 
matters  of  interest,  I  shall  probably  find  you  there  when 
I  return." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


CO-EDUCATION. 


Left  to  myself,  I  strolled  slowly  along  the  path  that 
led  dowu  the  midst  of  this  strange  park,  or  garden.  I  in- 
haled with  delight  the  sea-breeze,  which  blew  steadily  and 
with  a  delicious  coolness  at  this  elevation.  I  was  only 
surprised  to  see  comparatively  so  few  enjoymg  what,  if 
now  available,  would  prove  a  constant  attraction.  The 
reason,  after  all,  was  not  far  to  seek.  The  city-dwellei'S, 
who  tended  and  enjoyed  these  gardens,  were  now  in  the 
busy  part  of  their  day.  They  resorted  hither,  either  to  enjoy 
the  bracing  morning  air  or  the  evening  breeze.  The  few 
I  saw  scattered  here  and  there,  at  wide  intervals,  were 
probably  strangers,  like  myself,  to  the  city.  Yet  to  none 
could  the  scene  be  so  strangely  novel  as  to  me,  seeing 
that  similar  roof-gardens  were  a  constant  element  iu 
urban  scenery. 

About  half-way  to  the  tower,  I  approached  one  of  the 
seats  placed  near  the  parapet,  and,  leaning  over,  looked 
down  into  the  busy  street.  I  hastily  drew  back.  The 
parapet,  though  in  reality  abundantly  strong,  seemed  to 
m}'  imagination  perilously  frail,  so  frightful  was  the 
down-look. 

129 


130         THE  DIOTUAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

On  reaching  the  tower,  I  found  it  pierced  by  an  arch- 
way affording  passage  to  a  spacious  balcony.  Standing 
on  this,  near  wliere  the  Battery  is  now  situated,  I  saw 
before  me  the  bay,  studded  with  craft  of  strange  appear- 
ance. Near  at  hand  J  recognized  Governor's,  Bedloe's, 
and  Ellis's  Islands.  But  how  altered  their  aspect !  Gov- 
ernor's Island  no  longer  presented  a  trace  of  any  thing 
resembling  a  fort,  or  any  sign  of  man's  distrust  or  defi- 
ance of  man.  On  the  site  of  Brooklyn  stood  a  city, 
statelier  and  more  turret-crowned  even  than  her  prede- 
cessor of  the  present.  In  the  foreground  were  granite 
docks  fringed  with  shipping.  From  the  edge  of  the 
docks  extended  a  broad,  open  space  unencumbered  with 
buildings  of  any  kind.  Massive  warehouses  lined  the 
farther  edge  of  the  esplanade,  on  which  could  be  distin- 
guished the  locomotive  wagons,  sometimes  singl}^  some- 
times in  long  lines,  carrying  to  and  fro  the  cargoes  that 
constituted  the  material  of  commerce  between  different 
hemispheres. 

Farther  back  from  the  water,  the  city,  though  abound- 
ing in  stately  edifices,  was  no  longer  so  closely  built,  but 
displayed  among  its  masonrj'  a  large  amount  of  foliage. 
This  arose,  as  I  afterwards  discovered,  from  the  city 
being  throughout  arranged  in  squares,  each  enclosing  au 
expanse  of  verdure. 

Brooklyn  had  become  a  great  university  city,  where, 
during  six  months  of  the  j'ear,  some  fifty  thousand  stu- 
dents, of  both  sexes,  attended  the  prelections  of  cele- 
brated teachers.  INIy  first  thought,  upon  hearing  this, 
was.  By  what  possible  means  do  the  authorities  manage 
to  preserve  order  among   such  a  concourse?     How  arc 


CO-EDUCATION.  131 

explosions  prevented  among  such  a  mass  of  inflaramaljle 
material?  The  solution  of  this  seeming  riddle  was,  after 
all,  sufficiently  simple.  A  brief  sojourn  at  a  university 
was  the  climax  of  a  long  course  of  culture,  not  the  en- 
forced duty  of  thoughtless  and  immature  youth. 

Some  account  has  already  been  given  of  the  earlier 
education  of  the  youth  of  the  period.  The  fundamental 
training  imparted  in  the  schools  and  academies  within 
easy  reach  of  every  home  was  so  thorough,  that  upon  it 
any  superstructure  could  be  raised.  Years  of  effort  were 
not  wasted  upon  the  acquisition  of  the  language  of  a  dead 
and  buried  civilization,  in  gaining  more  or  less  insight — ■ 
usuall}'  less  —  into  a  system  of  thouglit,  that,  upon  most 
matters  of  vital  interest,  is  soon  found,  notwithstanding 
its  charm  of  expression,  to  be  crude  to  the  verge  of  child- 
ishness. 

Here  each  study  had  a  well-defined  purpose,  as  part  of 
a  carefully  devised  system  of  mental  culture,  in  which  the 
balance  was  nicely  adjusted  between  the  desirable  and 
the  attainable.  Education  was  not  looked  upon  as  merely 
the  special  business  of  a  few  years,  a  task  to  be  hurried 
over  during  the  period  of  immature  mental  development. 
It  was  rather  regarded  as  the  main  business  of  life,  to 
which  all  else  was  merely  accessory.  All  accomplished 
during  childhood  and  j^outh  was  but  laying  the  foundation 
of  a  higher  culture,  by  securing  the  healthy  unfolding  of 
the  mental  faculties,  while  acquiring  the  stock  of  sound 
elementary  knowledge  needful  as  the  instrument  of 
fiu'ther  acquisition. 

Boys,  as  we  have  seen,  began  at  fifteen  the  study  of 
their  special  handicraft ;  at  sixteen  that  of  their  profes- 


132  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

sional,  or  artistic,  pursuit.  Yet,  meantime,  their  mental 
training  was  by  no  means  neglected.  AVithout  leaving 
his  native  village,  a  young  man  could,  by  means  of  the 
phonograph,  be  brought  in  contact  with  the  master-minds 
of  the  age. 

I  was  once  present  when,  in  the  lecture-hall  of  the 
village  academy,  a  lecture  was  delivered  on  a  certain 
point  of  physics.  The  scene  w'as  to  me  novel  and  in- 
structive. On  a  table  near  the  upper  end  of  the  hall 
stood  the  wonderful  instrument  that  was  to  reproduce  the 
utterances  of  the  great  scientist,  a  Tyndall  of  the  period. 
Beside  the  instrument  stood  the  expositor,  pointer  in 
hand,  in  order  to  indicate,  at  the  appropriate  moment, 
the  points  referred  to  in  the  diagram  displayed  close  by. 
Even  this  diagram  had  been  transmitted  by  electricity,  an 
exact  reproduction  of  that  described  by  the  lecturer  on 
his  prepared  plane  two  thousand  miles  away. 

When  the  audience  was  duly  seated,  the  expositor  had 
only  to  move  a  small  lever  on  the  table  before  him  in 
order  to  open  the  lecture.  The  hall  was  admirably 
adapted  in  acoustic  properties  to  the  purpose  for  which 
it  was  intended.  The  utterance  from  the  phonograph 
was  so  natural  and  distinct,  that  I  had  difliculty  in  realiz- 
ing that  it  was  not  the  voice  of  the  expositor.  The  lec- 
ture was  first  listened  to  without  interruption.  Then  the 
expositor  invited  questions  from  the  audience.  Having 
made  a  note  of  these,  he  again  set  the  instrument  going, 
till  he  caused  it  to  cease  at  the  point  on  which  some  ques- 
tion bore.  This  satisfactorily  elucidated,  he  again  set  it 
going,  and  so  on  to  the  end. 

From  the  nature  of  thck  questions,  I  could  perceive 


CO-EDUCATION.  133 

that  the  girls,  Tvho  occupied  one  side  of  the  auditorium, 
were  as  iutelligently  appreciative  of  the  lecture  as  were 
the  youths,  their  fellow-students.  All  were  expected  to 
take  notes  of  each  lecture.  This  was  effected  by  their 
repeating  to  their  private  phonograph,  as  soon  as  conven- 
ient, what  they  recollected  of  the  lecture. 

At  my  request  Reva  favored  me  with  a  sight,  or,  rather, 
hearing,  of  her  phonographic  notes  on  the  lecture  above 
referred  to.  I  was  amazed  at  the  accuracy  wdth  which 
she  had  reproduced  the  substance  of  what  had  been  said, 
though,  of  course,  with  somewhat  altered  diction.  The 
parents,  by  this  means,  became  the  examiners  of  the 
students,  —  examiners  the  more  efficient  since  they  could 
bring  unwearied  attention  to  a  task  in  which  enlightened 
affection  prompted  vigilant  care.  As  will  afterwards  be 
seen,  parental  authority  and  parental  responsibility  were 
supreme  social  forces,  not  antiquated  abstractions  to  be 
flouted  at  by  silly,  would-be  reformers,  and  weakened  by 
unwise  legislation. 

That  Hulmar  Edial  was  no  mere  passive  or  reluctant 
listener  to  his  daughter's  summar3^of  the  lecture  was  evi- 
dent enough  from  the  questions  and  remarks  interpolated 
by  him.  The  questions  were  brief  but  searching.  Reva, 
too,  occasionally  interrupted  her  summar}'  by  remarks 
that  showed  both  a  thorough  knowledge  of  and  interest 
in  the  subject. 

I  cannot  truthfully  sa3%  that  I  had  been  wonderfully 
interested  in  the  lecture  at  the  time  of  its  delivery.  A 
discourse  of  which  one  comprehends  only  enough  to 
appreciate  the  dei)ths  of  one's  ignorance  is  not  apt,  as  a 
usual  thing,   to  rouse  enthusiastic  attention  on  the  part 


134  THE   DIOT/IAS;    on,   A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

of  the  listener.  But  this  summary  in  the  words  of  Reva, 
with  the  remarks  interspersed,  seemed  to  throw  a  new 
light  upon  the  subject. 

It  was  in  Utis's  parlor  that  I  first  heard  the  phono- 
graphic notes.  I  asked,  and  obtained,  permission  to 
keep  for  a  few  days  the  thin  metallic  sheet  on  which  the 
sounds  were  recorded.  In  the  retn-ement  of  my  study  I 
placed  the  sheet  in  ni}^  phonograph,  and  was  thus  enaliled, 
as  often  as  I  pleased,  —  and  I  was  often  pleased,  — to  lis- 
ten to  Reva's  summary  of  the  lecture.  The  voice  with 
its  melodious  inflections  conversing,  as  it  were,  on  a  sub- 
ject of  interest,  in  the  softest,  yet  most  expressive,  of 
languages  ever  uttered  by  human  tongue,  had  the  effect 
of  the  sweetest  music.  At  intervals  would  come  in  the 
dee{)er  tones  of  her  father's  voice.  The  effect  was  so  start- 
lingly  natural,  that,  at  times,  I  could  not  help  looking  in 
the  direction  whence  the  sounds  seemed  to  proceed.  For 
such  was  the  perfection  of  the  mstrument,  that  it  not  only 
reproduced  each  voice  with  all  the  fidelity  of  a  photo- 
graph, but  also  indicated  the  distance  and  direction  of  the 
speaker.  It  was,  naturally,  not  an  uncommon  practice 
for  the  people  of  this  age  to  hold  converse,  in  this  way, 
with  loved  ones  separated  by  distance  or  death, 

"With  this  explanation,  it  will  readily  be  perceived  how 
potent  a  means  of  education  had  become  the  telephone 
and  phonograph.  There  was  no  need  to  gather,  far  from 
home  influences,  crowds  of  callow  j^ouths  Into  assem- 
blages whose  numbers  rather  emliolden  to  mischief  and 
folly  than  incite  to  a  noble  emulation.  Nor  were  the 
undeniable  advantages  of  association  with  those  of  simi- 
lar  age   lost.      Curricles   rendered   distances   of   twenty 


CO-EDUCATION.  135 

miles,  or  so,  a  trifle  ;  and,  as  we  have  seen,  the  popula- 
tion was  dense.  P^ach  district  had,  accordingly,  an  insti- 
tution for  higher  education,  resorted  to  by  some  five 
hundred  young  people,  for  about  four  hours,  ou  six  days 
in  the  week. 

In  these  institutions,  whether  by  local  teachers,  or  by 
lectures  delivered  by  the  highest  accepted  authorities  ou 
special  subjects,  the  young  continued  their  education,  con- 
currently with  other  duties,  till  marriage.  The  earliest 
legal  age  for  this  was  twenty-five  for  men,  and  twenty- 
three  for  women.  The  young  couple  usually  started  on  a 
two-months'  wedding  journey,  —  either  a  rapid  tour  of  the 
world,  or,  more  commonly,  the  young  wife  visited,  in  com- 
pany with  her  husband,  the  places  where  he  had  resided, 
and  of  which  she  had  heard  so  much  from  him  during  tlie 
period  of  enforced  expatriation,  of  which  we  shall  after- 
wards hear.  On  their  return,  it  was  usual  for  botli  to 
spend  six  months,  at  least,  at  some  great  university,  to 
receive  the  finishing  touches  to  their  education. 

The  universities  were  open  only  during  the  winter  sea- 
son, from  the  beginning  of  November  till  May.  For 
that  reason,  almost  all  marriages  took  place  al)0ut  the 
beginning  of  September,  that  and  the  following  month 
being  also  regarded  as  the  most  pleasant  for  travelling. 
This  wedding  journey  was  performed,  for  the  most  part, 
in  curricle,  the  railway  being  emplo^^ed  oul}'  for  long  dis- 
tances. 

The  journey  was  all  the  more  delightful  from  the  fact, 
that,  on  tlie  one  hand,  the  bride  now,  for  the  first  time, 
tasted  the  deliglits  of  distant  travel  and  unrestrained  loco- 
motion, the  one  privilege  denied  to  girls  ;  on  the  other, 


136  THE   DIOTUAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

the  young  husband  had  the  long-anticipated  delight  of 
niitiating  his  second  self  to  this  new  and  freer  life,  and 
introducing  her  to  the  homage  of  the  friends  of  his  loan- 
der-jahre.  If  she  took  special  delight  in  travelling,  their 
return  might  be  dela^'ed  as  long  as  a  year ;  but  usually 
her  domestic  instincts  would  render  her  glad  to  return  by 
the  end  of  the  second  month. 

There  was,  besides,  the  required  residence  of  six  months 
at  the  university  before  they  could  settle  down  to  entire 
domesticity.  They  were  at  liberty  to  select  a  foreign  uni- 
versity ;  but,  for  many  reasons,  that  nearest  their  native 
place  was  usually  preferred.  The  advanced  study  of 
certain  subjects,  medicine  for  example,  could  not  be 
entered  upon  till  after  marriage,  a  great  majority  of 
})hysic'ians  being  women.  The  latter,  to  whom  certain 
branches  of  the  medical  profession  were  exclusively  eon- 
fined,  studied  in  their  own  halls,  under  professors  of  their 
own  sex. 

Those,  of  course,  that  intended  to  make  ntedicine  a 
specialty,  went  through  a  more  extended  course.  IJut, 
whatever  else  might  be  studied  during  the  six-months' 
residence,  every  woman  was  expected  to  go  througli  a  pre- 
scril)ed  course,  adapted  to  render  lier,  on  ordinary  occa- 
sions, the  physician  of  her  own  household.  This  was  the 
more  feasible,  because,  while  medicine  had  really  become 
a  science,  the  simple,  regular  course  of  life  led  by  all  had 
long  banished  the  complicated  ailments  that  now  tax  the 
skill  of  the  physician.  In  like  manner  every  man  was 
required  to  go  through  such  a  course  of  law  as  rendei'ed 
him  capable  of  holding  the  official  positions  that  all,  in 
rotation,  were  obliged  to  accept.     For,  strange   to  say, 


CO-EDUCATION.  137 

office  was  no  longer  songlit  after  as  a  boon  worthy  the 
sacrifice  of  every  vestige  of  trutli,  liouor,  aud  self-respect, 
but  was  merely  accepted  with  resignation,  yet  witliout 
repuguauce,  as  au  unavoidable  duty  to  the  community. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A   NEW   ACQUAINTANCE. 

Though  all  the  above  particulars  were  not  known  to  me 
at  the  time ;  yet  I  knew  suflloient  to  make  me  regard  with 
intense  interest  the  great  city  that  lay  before  me,  where 
university  life  was  carried  on  under  such  novel  conditions. 
Novel  to  me,  I  should  say,  for  the  system  had  been  in 
operation  for  thousands  of  3'cars.  Buildings  could  there 
be  seen,  venerable  both  from  the  associations  that  clustered 
around  them,  and  from  an  antiquity  rivalled  by  no  edifice 
now  existing,  except,  perhaps,  the  p3'ramids.  That  ex- 
tensive pile  to  the  right,  its  numerous  domes  glittering 
with  their  coverings  of  ualin  of  various  hues,  was  the 
great  Travud  Uergol,  or  College  of  Electric  Science. 
That  still  more  extensive  series  of  edifices  on  the  outer 
verge  of  the  city  was  the  Muetra,  or  Medical  College  for 
Women,  to  whose  portals  husbands  might  escort  their 
wives,  but  were  not  permitted  to  enter. 

Rich  by  the  bequests  of  man}-  generations  of  grateful 
alumn£e,  this  college  was  endowed  to  superfluity  with  all 
that  could  further  tlie  important  ol)ject  for  which  it  ex- 
isted, and  offered  all  its  resources,  without  charge,  to  the 
thousands  of  fair  young  brides,  who,  as  students,  thronged 
138 


A   NEW  ACQUAINTANCE.  109 

during  winter  its  august  portals.  As  well  as  I  could  make 
out  from  my  point  of  view,  the  Muetra  consisted  of  a 
series  of  quadrangles  enclosing  extensive  open  spaces 
adorned  with  grass,  trees,  flowers,  and  fountains.  Inter- 
spersed with  these  were  frequent  statues  of  those  who 
had  deserved  well  of  mankind  by  advancement  of  the 
healing  art,  and  of  benefactors  of  the  college. 

Even  from  that  distance  I  could  distinguish  the  magnifi- 
cent central  avenue  of  cedars  of  Lebanon,  the  boast  and 
glory  of  the  college,  with  which  they  were  almost  coeval. 
During  the  summer  the  grounds  were  open  to  the  public. 
It  was,  indeed,  during  a  visit  there,  in  company  with  Utis, 
that  I  saw  and  heard  much  of  what  is  here  mentioned. 

He  then  told  me  of  his  first  visit  there  in  comi)any  with 
Ulmene,  then  a  wife  of  two  months.  The  husbands  of 
the  fair  students  were  admitted,  it  seems,  on  certain  occa- 
sions, to  a  sort  of  public  reception,  much  as  ladies  are 
now  admitted  to  a  view  of  the  clulxs  of  their  male  rela- 
tives. One  of  these  days  was  the  opening  day,  when  the 
students  for  that  year  appeared,  to  enter  their  names  on 
the  great  roll.  On  this  occasion  each  was  usuall}-  accom- 
panied by  her  mother,  who  with  pride  introduced  her 
daughter  to  the  well-remembered  walks  and  buildings  so 
closely  associated  with  those  happy  days  of  carl}-  wife- 
hood. She  would,  also,  probabl}-  show  her,  on  the  ancient 
rolls,  the  long  series  of  ancestresses,  her  predecessors, 
extending  far  back  into  the  distant  past,  who,  like  her, 
had  trodden  those  time-honored  halls. 

After  I  had  sufliciently  feasted  my  e3-es  on  the  pros- 
pect from  the  balcony,  I  ascended  the  tower.  This  proved 
to  be  au  observatory,  rising  to  about  a  hundred  and  fifty 


140  THE   nWTnAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

feet  above  high  water.  From  this  elevntion  I  could  see 
fur  up  the  Sound,  and  over  Long  Island,  cultivated  like  a 
garden,  and  dotted  with  the  clumps  of  trees  that  indicated 
the  presence  of  a  home.  Turning  toward  the  ocean,  I 
could  see  for  about  twelve  miles  beyond  the  inland. 

Of  all  that  met  my  eye,  the  ocean  alone  seemed  un- 
changed. The  glints  of  var3'ing  color,  the  whitecaps,  the 
surge  upon  the  sandy  shore,  were  even  as  of  old.  The 
very  ships,  at  that  distance,  were  not  unlike  those  of 
eight}'  centuries  before.  "While  my  nostrils  snutfed  up 
the  well-remembered  odor,  my  eyes  followed  the  long  line 
of  white  along  the  Jersey  shore,  toward  where,  in  the  dis- 
tance, I  fancied  lay  that  beach  forevcjr  associated  with 
such  sweet  aud  bitter  recollections.  A  feeling  of  strange 
sadness  came  over  me,  a  sort  of  homesick  longing  for  that 
past  Avhich  already  began  to  seem  so  unreal. 

An  approaching  step  recalled  me  to  myself.  A  j'oung 
man,  perhaps  a  year  or  so  older  than  m3'Self ,  and  of  a  coun- 
tenance strikingi}'  intellectual,  issued  from  the  door  that 
opened  on  the  balcon3^  Observing  that  my  ej'e  was  at- 
tracted by  the  strange-looking  instrument  he  carried  in 
bis  hand,  he  said,  with  a  pleasant  smile, — 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  me  visit  the  instru- 
ments?" 

I  duh'  acknowledged  his  courtesy,  and  followed  to  a 
dome-shaped  apartment  of  large  size,  filled  with  instru- 
ments of  even  stranger  appearance  than  that  which  had 
attracted  my  attention.  "With  this  instrument  he  pro- 
ceeded to  perform  certain  operations,  as  mysterious  in 
purpose  as  the  instrument  was  peculiar  in  form.  This 
completed,  he  courteously  began  an  explanation  of  the 


A   NEW  ACQUAINTANCE.  141 

various  uses  of  the  strange  objects  before  us.  My  silent 
attention  apparently  inii)ressed  him  favorably  in  regard 
to  my  general  intelligence  and  love  of  science.  Yet  liis 
instruments  were,  in  reality,  even  less  intelligible  to  me 
than  those  I  have  wouderiugly  regarded  in  the  Park 
Observator}'. 

We  were  still  engaged  in  this  way  when  Utis  made  his 
appearance.  lie  greeted  my  kind  informant  with  the  air 
of  an  old  acquaintance,  and  introduced  me.  On  learning 
my  name,  Anvar  Niured,  for  so  the  scientist  was  named 
to  me,  urgently  pleaded  that  we  should  partake  of  the 
mid-day  refection  in  company  with  his  father,  who,  it 
seemed,  was  director  of  the  observatory. 

"I  have  not  had  the  advantage  of  meeting  j^our 
father,"  said  Anvar;  "but,  from  the  high  regard  I 
know  my  father  cherishes  to  the  mcmor}'  of  Eured 
Thiusen,  I  know  he  would  greatly  regret  not  seeing 
you." 

On  following  to  the  study,  we  found  a  handsome,  gray- 
haired  gentleman  seated  before  a  calculating  machine  and 
a  board,  on  which  were  traced  complicated  curves.  He 
was  deeply  immersed  in  the  solution  of  a  problem.  At  a 
gesture  from  the  son,  we  awaited  in  silence  the  leisure  of 
the  absorbed  astronomer ;  while,  to  my  equal  interest  and 
astonishment,  he  caused  a  marking-point  to  move  over 
the  face  of  the  board,  in  obedience  to  the  changes  he 
made  in  the  symbols  on  the  table  before  him. 

After  I  had  been  duly  introduced,  I  took  advantage  of 
the  marked  kindness  of  my  reception  to  inquire,  in  regard 
to  tlie  instrument  before  me,  whether  it  could  be  made  to 
describe  any  curve  whatever. 


142  TTIE   niOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

"Any  plane  curve,"  was  the  reply  of  the  old  gentle- 
man, evidently  gratified  by  the  interest  displayed  in  an 
instrument  that  owed  great  improvements  to  himself. 

At  his  request  I  wrote  down  a  function  whose  curve  I 
wished  to  see.  On  glancing  over  what  I  had  written 
down,  the  elder  Siured  uttered  an  exclamation  of  pleas- 
urable recognition  ;  while  his  son  looked  at  the  charac- 
ters with  the  blank  expression  of  one  to  whom  they 
convej'ed  no  idea  whatever. 

"It  was  your  father  taught  me  the  long-lost  meaning 
of  that  ancient  notation  employed  in  the  infancy  of 
science.  This  is  what  that  signifies,"  he  continued, 
addressing  his  son,  and  writing  down  a  new  set  of 
symbols,  of  which  all  that  I  could  understand  was, 
that  the  notation  employed  was  much  more  compact  thau 
mine. 

It  sounded  strange  to  my  ears  to  hear  the  science  of 
Newton,  Lagrange,  and  Gauss  described  as  the  "  infancy 
of  science,"  and  their  methods  alluded  to  as  antique 
curiosities.  I  could  not  but  acknowledge  to  myself, 
however,  that  some  progress  had  been  made  since  their 
days,  when  I  beheld  the  required  curve  described  in 
about  as  short  a  time  as  I  had  taken  to  write  down  its 
formula. 

In  the  course  of  our  return  journey,  Utis,  after  an- 
swering some  other  inquiries  on  my  part,  said,  in  refer- 
ence to  the  interesting  family  whose  hospitality  we  had 
enjoyed,— 

"In  the  Siureds  you  see  a  good  exemplification  of 
what  I  told  you  in  regard  to  our  twofold  employments. 
From  four  till  eight  in  the  morning,  you  would  find  the 


A   NEW   ACaUATNTANCE.  143 

ekler  Sinrecl  energetically  working  the  machine  by  which 
he  finishes  the  soles  for  sandals.  He  thns  maintains  the 
vigorous  health  that  has  enabled  him,  for  so  many  years, 
to  devote  some  ten  hours  a  day  to  science. 

"The  machine  that  so  interested  you  is  his  special 
hobby  and  relaxation.  The  important  improvements  due 
to  him  have  rendered  that  machine  about  as  perfect  in 
one  way  as  can  be  desired.  But  he  has  set  his  heart  on 
rendering  the  machine  capable  of  solving  completely  the 
converse  as  well  as  the  direct  problem." 
"  What  is  that?  "  inquired  I. 

"At  present  the  machine  solves  perfectly  the  direct 
problem,  —  Given  a  fiuictiou,  to  descril:>e  its  curve.  He 
•wishes  to  adapt  it  to  the  solution  of  the  converse  prob- 
lem,—  Given  any  plane  curve,  to  write  down  its  func- 
tion." 

"  That  seems  to  me  difficult,  if  not  impossible,"  said  I 

dubiously. 

"  The  simpler  cases  are  already  mastered,  however," 
was  the  reply  ;  "  and  he  expresses  great  hopes  in  regard 
to  the  rest." 

"But  these  pursuits  of  his  must  involve  considerable 
expense,"  said  I,  remembering  the  comparatively  small 
capital  that  each  could  inherit. 

"  All  expenses  are  probably  covered  by  the  small  con- 
tribution received  from  every  educational  institution 
throughout  the  world  that  makes  use  of  his  inventions. 
In  return,  he  gives  a  full  right  to  all  improvements  as  he 
reports  them.     More  than  this  he  does  not  desire." 

"  You  have,  then,  such  things  as  patent  rights  among 
you,"  I  remarked. 


144  THE  DTOTUAS;   OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

"  Yes :  we  consider  it  Init  just  that  a  man  should  en- 
joy the  fruits  of  intellectual,  as  well  as  of  any  other, 
labor.  The  royalty  is  generally  small,  however,  and  is 
fixed  by  a  jury  of  experts.  Yet,  having  the  whole  world 
as  customer,  a  useful  improvement  often  brings  in  im- 
mense sums  to  the  inventor." 

"How  are  such  large  fortunes  disposed  of,"  said  I, 
"  seeing  that  they  cannot  be  left  to  one  person?  " 

"  That  is  sometimes  a  puzzle  to  the  owner  himself.  A 
great  income  is,  at  present,  of  no  personal  advantage. 
It  cannot  procure  a  comfort  beyond  what  all  enjoy,  nor 
does  it  confer  an  iota  of  social  power.  It  has  even 
become  diflicult  to  find  conspicuous  ways  of  employing  it 
to  the  public  advantage,  our  institutions  are  so  numerous, 
and  so  liberall}'  endowed  by  the  generosity  of  a  long 
series  of  public  benefactors.  The  patentee,  accordingl}', 
frequently  surrenders  all  rights  to  the  public,  or  conveys 
them  to  the  trustees  of  the  general  fund. 

"  Great  wealth,  in  fact,  is  neither  desired  nor  desirable 
among  us.  It  is  an  imputation  on  a  man's  memory,  it  is 
true,  if  he  leaves  impaired  the  patrimony'  inherited  from 
his  father.  But  that  maintained  as  received,  his  mind  is 
at  rest.  The  tendency  has  been,  therefore,  to  increase 
slightly,  from  generation  to  generation,  the  ancestral  in- 
heritance ;  ixw(\^  pari  passu  ^  the  legal  maximum  of  bequest 
has  also  been  gradually  raised." 

He  then  went  on  to  explain  the  origin  and  manner  of 
administration  of  the  general  fund.  This,  it  seems,  was 
a  kind  of  insurance-fund,  towards  which  all  married  per- 
sons contributed  a  certain  amount  every  year.  It  was 
also  the  recipient  of  numerous  bequests,  of  nearly  all  the 


A  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE.  145 

superfluous  wealth,  in  fact,  that  was  left  by  testators. 
From  this  fund  was  replaced  all  property  lost  by  fire,  — 
by  any  accident,  indeed,  beyond  the  owner's  care. 

Fires,  it  may  be  remarked  in  passing,  were  of  extremely 
rare  occurrence,  as  might  be  inferred  from  the  highly  in- 
combustible nature  of  their  building  material,  into  which 
wood  did  not  enter,  being  very  sparingly  employed,  even 
in  furniture.  Life-insurance  was  not  needful,  seeing  that 
every  family  had  a  certain  amount  of  property  ;  and  pre- 
mature deaths,  among  the  men  at  least,  were  compara- 
tively rare. 

Any  assistance  required  by  a  family  on  account  of  sick- 
ness, or  similar  misfortune,  was  cheerfully  accorded  by 
the  related  families,  the  family-feeling  being  very  strong. 
Children,  orphaned  of  both  parents,  found  man}'  eager  to 
adopt  them.  The  supply  of  such  children  was,  in  fact, 
far  below  the  demand  ;  the  one  want  of  many  households 
being  that  crowning  grace,  —  little  ones  to  love  and  care 
for. 

During  the  rest  of  the  journey,  and  after  we  had  retired 
to  my  study,  I  received  much  further  information  in  re- 
gard to  the  social  arrangements  of  the  period.  This, 
said  Utis,  was  the  more  necessary,  because,  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  I  should  meet  and  be  introduced  to  a  larger 
number  of  people  than  I  had  seen  as  yet,  including  a 
number  of  relatives  by  my  mother's  side. 

"  What  is  the  occasion?  "  I  naturally  inquired. 

"  To-morrow  is  the  day  of  rest,"  was  the  reply. 

A  moment's  reflection  showed  me  that  such  was  the 
case.  It  was  now  the  evening  of  the  day  that,  in  the 
ancient  nomenclature,  was  called  Saturday.     1  had  alto- 


14 G  THE  DIOTHAS,    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

getlier  lost  track  of  tlie  days.  So  many  new  ideas  had 
been  crowding  upon  me,  that  it  seemed  as  if  years  had 
elapsed  since,  in  crossing  the  threshold  of  my  chamber,  I 
had,  iu  fact,  crossed  that  of  a  new  world. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE   NEW   SOCIETY. 


Of  all  the  social  changes  brought  under  my  notice,  none 
surprised  me  more  than  the  stringency  of  the  laws  gov- 
erning the  family  relation.  Most  of  these  laws,  indeed, 
had  become  practically  needless, — much  as  laws  against 
cannibalism  or  man-stealing  would  be  among  us.  They 
still  survived,  however,  as  a  legacy  from  the  ages  of  con- 
flict, when  the  existing  social  organization  was  slowly 
evolved.  They  dated  back,  for  the  most  part,  to  that 
period  already  referred  to,  when,  during  the  re-action 
against  the  rule  of  corrupt  demagogues  and  social  dis- 
organizers,  society  re-asserted  its  right  of  self -protection 
with  a  vigor  that  partook  of  fcrocitj'. 

Nor  was  property  the  only  interest  to  o1)tain  vindica- 
tion. For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  our  race,  the  in- 
fluence of  woman  made  itself  directly  felt  in  legislation. 
This  influence,  purif3'iug  in  every  direction,  was  espe- 
cially active  in  the  repression  of  tlie  twin  evils  from 
whicli  their  sex  had  been  the  severest,  and,  for  too  long, 
the  heli)less,  sufferers. 

Intemperance  was  made  simply  impossible  by  a  total 
prohibition,  under  severe  penalties,  of  the  manufacture 

147 


148  THE  DIOTHAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

or  possession  of  intoxicating  beverages.  The  wonderful 
improvement  effected  in  the  condition  of  society  by  a  few 
years  of  this  regime  reconciled  to  it  even  those  who,  on 
general  principles,  had  been  most  violently  opposed  to 
prohibitory  legislation.  The  cessation  of  the  enormous 
amount  of  waste  of  various  kinds,  estimated  to  amount 
to  fully  one-fifth  of  the  total  productive  capacity  of  the 
community,  was  found  to  make  all  the  difference  between 
the  existence  of  an  ever-increasing  substratum  of  hope- 
less poverty  and  a  general  diffusion  of  comfort  and  inde- 
pendence. It  soon  became  an  almost  inci'edible  tradition 
of  the  evil  past,  —  those  days  when  drunkenness  in  a 
legislator  was  a  cause  neither  of  disqualification  nor  of 
surprise  ;  those  days  when  "  the  rum-soaked  senator  fiom 
All-know-where  "  could  stand  up,  or,  rather,  lean,  to  hic- 
cough forth  his  boozy  philii)pics  against  men  in  whose 
presence  he  was  not  worthy  to  stand,  and  against  meas- 
ures he  was  as  incapable  of  comprehending  as  of  origi- 
nating. 

It  had  long  been  recognized,  though  with  but  slight 
result  in  the  wa}'  of  remedy,  that  offences  against  chas- 
tity are  among  those  that  eat  most  deeply  into  the  life 
of  a  nation.  Of  this  there  had  been  seen  a  terril)le  ex- 
ample in  the  degradation  and  final  ruin  of  a  once  noble 
people,  whose  long  and  glorious  history  had  come  to  a 
disgraceful  cud.  Uncleauness,  like  a  foul  ulcer,  had  de- 
voured the  manhood  of  her  sons,  aud  so  infected  her 
literature,  that  other  nations  had  found  themselves  com- 
pelled in  self-defence  to  exclude  utterly  the  pestiferous 
uastiness  from  their  borders.  At  length,  despised,  and 
regarded  as  a  centre  of  moral  contagion,  they  had  fallen 


THE  NEW  SOCIETY.  149 

nnclcr  the  dominion  of  manlier  races,  who  had  extirpated 
the  disease  with  fire  and  steel. 

The  lesson  was  not  lost  upon  the  world.  The  purifying 
influence  of  woman  was  nowhere  more  conspicuously  ex- 
erted than  in  the  legislation  that  tended  to  the  protection 
of  the  sex  that  too  long  had  been  the  slave  or  victim, 
despised  or  petted  or  flattered,  of  the  coarser  sex.  Se- 
duction was  treated  as  a  serious  crime,  —  as,  in  certain 
cases,  the  basest  and  most  cruel  of  crimes.  The  seducer 
was  not,  indeed,  compelled  to  marry  his  victim,  but  was 
given  the  option  between  such  reparation  and  being  ren- 
dered incapable  of  offending  again  in  that  way.  If  one, 
or  both,  of  the  guilty  parties  was  already  married,  both 
were  purged  from  the  land,  unless  it  could  be  proved  that 
one  had  sinned  in  ignorance. 

Nor  were  these  laws  allowed  to  remain  ino})erative. 
The  woman  was  tried  by  a  judge  and  jury  of  her  own  sex, 
who  generally  proved  inexorable  in  vindicating  the  out- 
raged dignity  of  womanliood.  The  condemnation  of  the 
woman  necessaril}'  drew  after  it  that  of  the  man.  The 
stronger  sex  thus  learned  to  be  extremely  guarded  in  its 
intercourse  with  the  sex  so  long  regarded  as  the  lawful 
prey  of  the  stronger. 

The  state  of  things  in  which  such  laws  had  been  neces- 
sary had,  however,  at  the  period  of  which  I  am  writing, 
become  as  remote  as  is  to  us  the  society  of  the  paliKO- 
lithlc  period.  Offences  that  society  now  easily  condones 
had  become  practically  impossil)le,  if  for  no  other  reason, 
because  the  idea  of  tliem  would  have  aroused  as  instinc- 
tive an  abhorrence  as  among  us  would  the  idea  of  dining 
on  a  tender  infant. 


150  THE   nrOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

From  the  uuiversal  diffusion  of  propert}^  there  was  no 
financial  difficulty  to  prevent  any  man  marrying  as  soon 
as  he  attained  the  legal  age.  The  difficulty,  in  many 
cases,  was  of  an  entirely  different  nature,  —  the  impossi- 
bility of  finding  a  wife.  From  various  causes  the  propor- 
tion of  women  to  men,  at  the  age  of  thirty,  had  steadily 
decreased,  till  for  some  time  it  had  been  about  a  hundred 
to  a  hundred  and  five.  There  was,  accordinglj',  a  brisk 
competition  for  the  hand  of  ever}'  marriageable  maid  or 
widow.  AYidowers  rarely  had  an  opportunity  of  marry- 
ing a  second  time.  In  the  case  of  a  widow,  however,  she 
was  regarded  as  fulfilling  a  social  duty  should  she  see  fit 
to  accept  the  hand  and  gladden  the  heart  of  some  lonely 
suitor. 

Marriage  being  regarded  as  the  most  important  step  in 
life,  and  practically  irrevocable,  —  for  divorce,  though 
allowed  by  the  law  in  certain  specified  cases,  was  almost 
unknown,  —  the  intercourse  of  the  young  people  of  both 
sexes  was  surrounded  by  a  number  of  restrictions.  These 
had  for  object  the  prevention  of  hasty  choice  and  too  early 
union. 

Till  the  age  of  twelve,  there  was  no  difference  in  the 
training  of  boys  or  girls.  They  attended  the  same  classes, 
joined  in  the  same  sports.  At  twelve  a  slight  change  was 
made  in  the  st3-le  of  dress,  as  also  in  the  course  of  study. 
The  girls  henceforth  wore  the  selvan,  or  long  tunic,  and 
attained  to  the  dignity  of  a  colored  border  to  the  same. 
The  boys  now  had  their  long  hair  cut  short,  and  began  to 
wear  the  shorter  male  tunic. 

From  this  time  till  the  age  of  seventeen,  though  the 
young  people  mostly  attended  the  same  classes,  they  sat 


THE  NEW  SOCIETY.  151 

separately.  Much  freedom  of  intercourse  was  still  al- 
lowed, though  always  under  the  supervision  of  watchful 
matrons,  who  each  takes  her  turn  in  what  is  regarded  as 
an  important  public  duty. 

If,  toward  the  end  of  this  period,  the  buddings  of  a 
more  tender  feeling  make  themselves  felt,  forewarned  on 
the  subject  by  their  mother,  and  so  trained  as  not  to  con- 
sider such  a  feeling  as  any  thing  to  be  ashamed  of,  they 
do  not  hesitate  to  make  of  her  a  confidant.  If  on  any 
account,  —  too  near  propinquity  of  blood,  or  for  any  simi- 
lar reason, —  the  mother  does  not  think  the  feeling  ought 
to  be  encouraged,  she  truthfully  explains  to  them  her  rea- 
sons, and  advises  with  them  as  a  tender  friend,  trying,  if 
necessary,  the  effect  of  absence. 

The  girls,  indeed,  she  aids  as  far  as  may  be  done  ;  but, 
knowing  that  they  are  always  certain  of  a  suitable  match 
if  they  choose  to  marry,  her  chief  anxiety  is  about  her 
son,  who  runs  the  chance  of  being  obliged  to  pass  an  un- 
wedded  life.  For  him  she  anxiousW  studies  the  maiden 
toward  whom  his  thoughts  turn,  and  imparts  the  results 
of  this  study  in  appropriate  advice  as  to  the  best  means  of 
attracting  her  thoughts  toward  him,  and  the  most  fitting 
manner  of  indicating  his  regard. 

Flowers,  and  the  language  they  speak,  find  extensive 
emplo^-ment  at  this  stage  of  matters.  By  their  means, 
the  maiden  also  may,  with  all  propriety,  afford  her  incip- 
ient admirer  some  slight  indication  of  how  she  regards 
his  attentions.  By  these  most  beautiful,  as  well  as  most 
evanescent,  of  symbols,  she  may  bestow  encouragement, 
indicate  hesitation  or  uncertainty,  or  give  warning  that 
pursuit  will  be  in  vain.     A  coquettish  encouragement  to  a 


152  THE   DIOTnAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

vain  pursuit  is  justly  stigmatized  as  a  social  treachery, 
utterly  uuworthy  of  a  bigh-miudecl  maiden. 

Fully  aware  of  the  power  of  mere  proximity  in  such  mat- 
ters, the  mother  finds  many  pretexts  for  affording  her  son 
this  advantage.  As  far,  that  is,  as  she  may  deem  advis- 
able. For,  with  the  intuitive  ability  of  her  sex  to  read 
the  signs  of  feeling,  she  may  soon  deem  it  necessary  to 
warn  her  son  of  the  probable  failure  of  his  suit.  In  such 
a  case  the  mother  would  probably  urge  her  son  to  put 
her  judgment  to  the  test  by  inviting  the  fair  one  to  a  seat 
in  his  curricle.  It  is  considered  but  proper,  it  may  be 
remarked,  to  give  the  maiden  an  opportunity  of  saying 
"  no,"  even  when  this  answer  is  an  almost  foregone  con- 
clusion. It  is  frequently  advantageous,  also,  to  afford 
the  maiden  an  opportunity  of  speaking.  Though  politely 
excusing  herself,  the  fair  one  may  give  her  rejected  suitor 
a  valuable  hint  of  a  quarter  in  which  his  attentions  may 
be  more  acceptable,  —  a  hint  often  acted  on  with  the  hap- 
piest results. 

It  was  somewhat  in  this  way  that  Utis  was  first  drawn 
to  Ulmene.  His  youthful  affections  had  first  been  given 
to  Osna  Diotha,  and  the  flower  language  had  led  him  to 
entertain  some  hopes.  It  was  he  that  introduced  to  her 
house  his  friend,  Eured  Thiusen ;  nor  was  it  long  before 
he  obsen'ed,  with  secret  dismay,  the  strong  mutual  attrac- 
tion between  the  two. 

His  mother,  whose  quick  eyes  had  observed  the  same 
thing,  advised  him  of  this.  Perhaps,  too,  she  may  have 
thought  him  too  young  for  Osna,  who  was  of  the  same 
age  as  himself.  In  some  way  an  inkling  of  the  state  of 
matters  reached  Eured.    Filled  with  dismay  at  the  thought 


THE  NEW   SOCIETY.  153 

of  the  iiijni'y  he  had  unwittingly  inflicted  upon  his  friend, 
he  also  became  aware,  for  the  first  time,  of  how  irrevo- 
cably his  feelings  had  passed  beyond  the  stage  of  mere 
admiration.  He  sought  at  once  an  explanation  with  Utis, 
—  set  forth  his  utter  ignorance  of  the  state  of  his  fi-iend's 
feelings  toward  Osna,  and  concluded  by  announcing  liis 
intention  of  at  once  departing,  at  whatever  cost  to  him- 
self. 

"Not  till  Osna  has  decided  between  us!  "  exclaimed 
Utis.  "  I  know  my  answer  beforehand,  but  it  is  her 
right  to  utter  it." 

"  I  was  refused,  as  I  expected,"  said  Utis,  when  he 
related  to  me  the  story,  "  but  in  such  a  way  that  we  have 
been  fast  friends  ever  since.  On  returning  to  where  I 
found  your  father  pacing  the  garden  in  agitation  greater 
than  I  ever  saw  him  show  on  any  other  occasion,  I  merely 
said,  'It  is  your  turn.'  He  understood,  went,  and  re- 
turned as  the  affianced  lover  of  Osna  Diotha. 

"  It  was  about  a  week  after,"  continued  Utis,  "  before 
I  again  met  her  who  was  hereafter  to  be  but  a  friend. 
She  had  learned  through  Eured,  she  said,  of  what  she 
was  pleased  to  call  my  noble  conduct. 

"'You  have  no  idea,'  she  continued,  laughing,  'of 
what  a  strong  champion  you  have  in  cousin  Ulmene.' 

"  '  Little  Ulmene?  '  said  I,  surprised.  Ulmene,  at  that 
time,  was  a  little  maid  of  some  seven  summers,  small,  too, 
for  her  age,  and  then  giving  but  slight  indication  of  the 
beauty  by  which  she  was  afterwai'ds  distinguished, 

"  '  Yes,  Ulmene.  She  is  most  indignant  at  what  she 
calls  my  poor  taste.  She  makes  comparisons  between 
you  aud  Eured  that  would,  perhaps,  render  you  too  vain 


154  THE   PIOTTTA^;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

should  I  repeat  them.  We  were  great  friends,  but  she 
has  not  spoken  to  me  foi*  u  week.' 

"  AVhen,  acting  on  a  hint  from  vay  mother,  I  returned 
after  an  absence  of  nine  years,  and  saw  Uhnene  in  the 
pride  of  her  beauty,  her  opinion  of  me  was  no  longer  a 
matter  of  amusement,  but  of  most  serious  moment.  For- 
tunately for  me,  she  had  not,  as  she  has  since  acknowl- 
edged, outgrown  her  childish  liking :  she  even  thought 
the  man  of  twenty-seven  improved  beyond  the  youth  of 
eighteen. 

"  If  a  young  man  is  rejected,  even  when  the  disappoint- 
ment is  most  severe,  he  is  expected  to  take  the  matter 
quietly.  He  merely  anticipates  the  usual  term  of  expa- 
triation, and  departs  at  once  on  the  course  of  public  duty 
and  education  that  intervenes  between  seventeen  and 
twenty-five. 

"  Even  if  successful  in  inducing  the  object  of  his  pref- 
erence to  bind  up  for  him  her  locks,  he  is  still  only  on 
probation.  For  two  months  he  is  allowed  to  enjoy  as 
much  of  her  society  as  is  consistent  with  the  entirely  pro- 
bationary nature  of  their  relation.  Within  doors  their 
interviews  always  take  place  in  the  presence,  though  not 
necessarily  within  earshot,  of  the  mother,  or  else  some 
one  entitled  to  take  her  place.  He  may  also  take  her 
out  every  day  for  a  ride  on  the  high-road  in  his  curricle. 
At  this  stage  of  courtship,  no  familiarities  whatever  are 
permissible  ;  for  the  maiden  may  at  any  time  break  off 
the  matter  by  re-appearing  with  tresses  free  and  unre- 
strained. 

"By  the  end  of  the  two  months,  the  maiden  has  had 
time  to  make  up  her  mind  as  to  whether  she  will  enter 


THE  NEW  SOCTETT.  1o5 

the  first  betrothal.  By  this  ceremony  she  passes  from 
the  ranks  of  the  vioran  (from  vio,  a  bud,  whence  viora, 
a  budding  beauty)  to  the  ranks  of  the  zeruan  (from  zer, 
a  hand,  whence  zeru,  a  clasped  hand,  and  zerua,  a 
plighted  maiden) .  The  ceremony  takes  place  in  the  pres- 
ence of  all  members  of  both  families  that  can  at  all  con- 
veniently attend.  Kings  are  exchanged  ;  and,  for  the  first 
time,  he  gives  her  a  kiss.  They  part  immediately,  not  to 
meet  again  for,  probably,  a  full  year." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


THE    ZERD^Ul. 


ALTnornn,  as  before  stated,  there  was  neither  army 
nor  navy  to  maintain,  there  was,  nevertheless,  a  sort  of 
conscription  in  force  that  exacted  for  pulilic  purposes  the 
service  of  all  young  men  between  the  ages  of  seventeen 
and  twenty-five.  B}'  these  couHcripts,  called  zerdars,  were 
performed  those  labors  which,  however  useful  or  indis- 
pensable, are  not  attractive  as  life  emploj'ments  to  those 
not  ('(impelled  to  follow  them. 

At  seventeen  each  young  man  was  expected  to  report 
for  duty  at  a  certain  place.  There,  unless  allowed  to  re- 
turn home  for  another  year,  he  was  at  once  assigned  to 
some  duty,  always  at  a  distance  from  home.  According 
as  exigency  required,  any  zerdar  might  become  a  sailor,  a 
miner,  a  member  of  the  sanitary  police,  and  so  on.  The 
nature  of  the  training  they  had  received  rendered  them 
fully  competent  for  the  management  of  the  machinery 
that  had  superseded  muscular  labor  in  every  department 
of  life. 

The  younger  were  first  assigned  to  comparatively  light 
tasks.  I  had  already  remarked,  with  some  surprise,  tliat 
the   conductors   of  the   city  railroads,  and   other  similar 

15() 


THE   ZERDAR.  157 

officials,  were  nil  very  young.  After  a  year  or  more  at 
siieli  light  tasks,  the}'  were  drafted  to  heavier  labors  in 
some  other  division  of  the  world  ;  regard  being  had,  as 
far  as  possible,  to  the  preferences  of  the  young  men.  lu 
order  to  give  the  zerdars  the  educational  advantage  of 
becoming  familiar,  in  turn,  with  every  great  division 
of  the  world,  its  climate,  and  its  productions,  the  various 
nations  had  established  a  sort  of  universal  labor  exchange, 
somewhat  on  the  plan  of  the  postal  unions  of  the  present. 
In  this  way,  during  his  seven  or  eight  years  of  service, 
each  zerdar  would  visit  every  part  of  the  world,  and  cer- 
tainl}'  gain  an  extensive  knowledge  of  mankind ;  no  im- 
pediment existing  in  the  way  of  difference  of  language, 
or  class  feeling,  to  prevent  free  social  or  intellectual 
intercourse. 

Ail  this  time,  too,  he  was  receiving  good  pay,  and  his 
education  was  carefully  attended  to.  A  certain  portion 
of  every  day  was  assigned  to  advanced  studies  under 
teachers  of  the  highest  class.  This,  indeed,  was  the 
busiest  and  most  hard-worked  part  of  a  man's  life,  the 
dangers  of  idleness  being  guarded  against  by  almost  con- 
stant occupation.  This  the  young  submitted  to  cheer- 
fully, looking  forward,  as  they  did,  to  an  assured  life 
of  comparative  ease  on  the  expiration  of  their  period  of 
service. 

Most  of  them,  too,  were  fortunate  enough  to  be  able 
to  look  forward  to  a  happy  rounding  off  of  their  life  by  a 
union  with  their  other  self,  the  fair  complement  of  their  oth- 
erwise incomplete  personality.  If  not  during  the  first  year, 
yet,  in  the  great  majority  of  cases,  during  the  remainder 
of  their  term  of  public  service,  they  were  happy  in  the 


1.j8  the  DIOTIIAS  ;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

acknowledged  love  of  some  fair  zerua^  who,  in  her  distant 
home,  was  also  completing  the  conrse  of  training  that 
was  to  make  her  for  liina  the  crown  and  joy,  as  now  she 
was  the  as[)iration,  of  his  life.  The  great  majority  of  be- 
trothals took  place,  either  just  before  the  youthful  zerdar 
departed  on  his  first  year  of  service,  or  during  the  fur- 
lough at  the  end  of  that  3'ear.  Experience  had  shown 
that  was  the  most  favorable  time  for  putting  the  momen- 
tous question,  when  the  maidens'  hearts  were  softened  by 
pity  for  the  young  fellows  about  to  depart  on  their  dis- 
tant wanderings,  to  engage  in  arduous  and  sometimes 
dangerous  duties,  from  which  their  own  sex  debarred 
them. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  separation  was  so 
complete  as  it  w'ould  now  be  under  like  circumstances. 
The  enormousl3'  improved  telephone  enabled  the  zerdar, 
no  matter  how  distant,  to  converse  as  freely  with  his  be- 
trothed as  if  in  the  same  apartment.  Imagine  such  an 
intercourse  continuing  for  years,  an  interchange  of  ideas 
coml)ining  the  charms  of  conversation  with  those  of  cor- 
respondence. Like  conversation,  it  comprised  the  pleas- 
ure caused  by  the  falling  of  a  loved  voice  on  the  ear,  the 
delicate  shading  of  thought  possible  to  the  living  voice 
alone,  and  the  mental  stimulus  arising  from  the  present 
collision  of  thought  with  thought.  At  the  same  time  it 
possessed,  like  correspondence,  the  power  of  presenting 
facts  and  depicting  scenes  inaccessible  to  the  person  in- 
formed, but  with  the  enormous  advantage  of  their  being 
presented  while  the  impression  upon  the  speaker's  mind 
was  fresh,  w^iile  the  facts  had  all  the  gloss  of  novelty. 

The  reciprocal  interaction  of  two  minds   engaged  for 


THE   ZERDAR.  159 

several  years  in  this  interchange  of  intimate  thought  had 
the  effect  of  making  the  one  in  reality  the  intellectual 
complement  of  the  other.  After  this  course  of  mutual 
training,  a  young  cou[)le  on  their  wedding  morning  already 
understood  and  api)reciated  each  other  to  a  degree  now 
rarely  attained  during  a  long  wedded  life,  except,  per- 
haps, in  a  few  fortunate  exceptions  to  the  general  rule. 
Our  ideal  of  marriage  is,  no  doubt,  greatl}'  in  advance  of 
that  of  any  former  age.  Friendihip  among  men,  in  the 
ancient  acceptation  of  the  term,  is  practically  extinct. 
Among  several  causes  for  this,  the  chief  one  is,  that  men 
have,  to  a  great  degree,  learned  to  look  to  their  wives 
for  that  sympathy  and  confidential  advice  once  sought 
from  some  chosen  friend.  The  next  step  will  he,  the 
attaunnent  of  that  intellectual  companionship  now  so 
rarely  found.  It  is  found,  however,  and  will  be  found  in 
an  ever-increasing  proportion,  till  it  become  the  normal 
type  of  wedded  life. 

Nor  was  the  zerdar  shut  out  from  the  pleasures  of  a 
relined  society.  All  being  equal  in  famil}'  and  education, 
there  were  no  barriers  to  social  intercourse.  Zerdars 
occu[)ied,  in  fact,  much  the  same  social  position  as  the 
oflicers  of  a  garrison  among  us  ;  supposing,  at  the  same 
time,  that  all  said  oflicers  are  young,  handsome,  and  well- 
bred. 

All  wore  a  handsome  uniform  ;  the  years  of  service,  and 
hence  the  official  rank,  being  indicated  by  the  different 
colors  of  the  edging  to  the  tunic.  Those  under  betrothal 
were  easily  distinguished  by  the  engagement  ring,  which 
they  were  expected  to  wear  on  all  occasions.  Besides, 
with  the  great  facilities  for  comnumication  by  telephone, 


IGO  THE   DIOTIIA^;    on,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

au}'  desired  iu formation  in  regard  to  a  zerdar  was  as  easy 
to  obtaiu  as  if  he  came  from  the  next  viUage.  It  was  the 
special  duty,  indeed,  of  certain  officials,  to  furnish  such 
information  when  required.  If  an  incipient  flirtation  was 
suspected  between  a  maiden  of  the  place  and  an  ineligible, 
that  is,  a  betrothed,  zerdar.,  he  w'as  apt  to  be  suddenly 
assigned  to  a  distant  field  of  dut}'. 

Though  subject  to  an  organization  and  discipline  re- 
sembling, in  some  degree,  that  of  our  armies,  the  zerdars 
were  not  quartered  iu  barracks,  but  were  assigned  to 
homes  among  the  households  of  the  place  where  dut}'  de- 
tained them.  I  say  homes  advisedl}' ;  for  the  accepted 
rule  of  conduct  on  both  sides  was,  that  he  was,  in  every 
respect,  to  be  treated,  and  he,  in  turn,  to  behave  toward 
his  hosts,  as  a  son  of  the  house.  The  relation  thus  estab- 
lished, though  temporary,  was  none  the  less  real,  and  was 
frequently  the  origin  of  life-long  friendships. 

"With  all  the  facility  of  youth,  the  young  man  soon  felt 
at  home  amid  his  new  surroundings,  and  readily  accorded 
to  his  temporar}'  guardians  the  respect  and  duty  he  had 
been  trained  to  show  his  parents.  Nor  was  the  guardian- 
ship assumed  by  the  householder  so  onerous  as  it  would 
now  be  apt  to  prove.  Tliere  were  no  such  haunts  as  now 
disgrace  our  cities  to  lead  a  j'oung  man  astra}^ ;  and,  with 
the  simple  habits  of  the  period,  debt  was  practically  un- 
known. 

At  the  season  when  transferred  from  one  post  of  duty 
to  another,  each  zerdnr  was  allowed  a  furlough  of  a  month 
or  SIX  weeks,  in  which  to  transport  himself  to  his  new 
sphere  of  duty.  Tlie  transfers  took  place  for  one-half 
the  number  iu  s[)ring,  for  the  other  half  in  autumn.     Iu 


THE   ZERDAR.  161 

this  way  was  secured  the  most  desirable  season  of  the 
year  for  travelliug. 

If  betrothed,  the  zerdar  was  naturally  anxious  to  pay 
at  least  a  flying  visit  to  where  was  for  him  the  centre  of 
attraction.  As  he  was  not  allowed,  however,  to  spend 
more  than  two  days  at  home,  a  large  part  of  the  journey, 
if  not  all,  was  performed  by  curricle.  Mounted  on  these, 
and  careering  over  the  splendid  roads  that  penetrated 
every  corner  of  the  terrestrial  globe,  the  young  men  could 
accomplish  with  ease  a  distance  of  two  hundred  and  forty 
miles  a  day,  or  four  hundred  miles  when  pressed  for 
time. 

My  host's  e3'es  would  yet  sparkle  with  enthusiasm  as 
he  told  of  those  glorious  days  of  travel  in  company  with 
a  band  of  comrades.  With  literally  "the  world  before 
them  where  to  choose,"  they  yet  preferred,  as  a  rule,  so 
to  map  out  their  route,  that  it  would  gradually  bring  them 
to  the  place  where,  on  a  certain  day,  they  should  report 
for  duty.  Thus,  at  one  time  they  would  course  for  days 
over  the  seemingh'-  endless  pampas  of  South  America :  on 
another  occasion  they  spent  weeks  of  wonder  and  delight 
in  the  region  of  the  Amazon,  skirting  the  shores  of  its 
mighty  flood,  and  viewing  with  the  intelligent  curiosity 
of  cultivated  minds  the  most  remarkable  vegetation  to  be 
seen  on  earth.  On  another  excursion  they  sped  across 
Africa,  no  longer  the  sable  and  unknown,  to  visit  the 
renowned  cataracts  of  the  Zambesi,  still  distinguished  by 
the  name  of  a  good  queen  of  ancient  renown.  Thence 
tliej"  turned  to  descend  the  course  of  the  once  mj'sterious 
Nile,  viewed  with  awe  the  pyramids,  most  venerable  of 
earth's  monuments,  thence  hastened  along  the  southern 


in2       TTiK  nroTHAS;  or,  a  far  look  ahead. 

shores   of   the   Medilenauean  to  their  appoiuted  station 
ill  what  is  now  called  Morocco. 

These  journeys,  and  others  unnecessary  to  mention, 
were,  no  doubt,  interesting,  even  to  hear  of.  Yet  tliey 
are  such  as  can  be  performed  even  now,  though  not  so 
easily.  What  did  engage  my  deepest  attention  was  his 
account  of  an  excursion  by  balloon  to  the  Korth  Pole. 
To  Utis,  however,  this  journey  proved  of  much  inferior 
interest  to  others  attended  with  less  discomfort.  He 
showed  me,  in  his  album,  photographs  of  scenery  inime- 
diately  around  the  pole.  They  struck  me  as  remarkably 
similar  to  the  well-known  scenes  found  in  every  record  of 
Polar  travel  of  the  present  day.  Icebergs,  Aval  ruses, 
seals,  all  were  there  :  only  the  familiar  Esquimau  and  liis 
dog  were  missing,  —  vanished  into  the  limbo  of  the  long- 
forgotten  past. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

UTIS   AND    ULMENE. 

At  the  close  of  his  term  of  service,  the  zerdar,  now  a 
VKinvd,  or  full  citizen,  was  gcnerall}'  in  haste  to  return 
liouie  to  claim  the  long-promised  l)ride.  For  Utis,  how- 
ever, from  causes  already  mentioned,  there  existed  no 
such  attraction  to  counteract  the  strong  taste  he  had  im- 
bibed for  travelling.  Not  living  in  idleness,  be  it  under- 
stood :  to  maintain  himself  was  regarded  as  the  first  duty 
of  a  man. 

"Whenever  he  arrived  at  a  village  where  he  purposed 
a  halt,  even  for  one  night,  he  reported  to  an  oflicial  ap- 
pointed for  the  purpose.  After  inspecting  the  liook  pro- 
duced by  the  traveller,  in  which  was  a  record  of  the  places 
through  which  he  had  passed,  the  official  showed  the  re- 
giscer  containing  the  names  of  those  in  the  vicinity  desir- 
ing assistance. 

No  kind  of  labor  was  regarded  as  unbecoming,  nor  was 
any  beyond  the  skill  of  a  zerdar,  after  the  training  he  had 
received.  "Without  leaving  the  room,  he  could  come  to 
an  arrangement,  by  telephone,  with  one  of  these  employ- 
ers, then  step  out,  mount  his  curricle,  and  ride  to  the 
place  indicated.     There  he  was  received  as  an  expected 

ir.3 


164  THE   Dior  HAS;     OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

guest,  diaed,  aud  spent  the  evening  in  social  interooursc. 
Next  morning,  having  performed  the  required  worlv  dur- 
ing the  usual  working-hours,  he  could,  after  breakfast, 
either  prosecute  his  journe}',  or,  if  it  had  been  so  agreed, 
remain  for  a  time  on  the  same  conditions. 

Nor  must  it  be  supposed  that  this  wandering  life  re- 
moved from  the  influences  of  home.  However  distant, 
the  wanderer  was  able  to  hold  daily  converse  with  those 
at  home,  —  was  probably  better  informed  in  regard  to  the 
trifles  of  home-life  than  when  there  present.  At  a  dis- 
tance, such  trifles  may  attain,  and  from  a  like  cause,  the 
factitious  value  sometimes  accorded  to  a  withered  flower 
or  a  fragment  of  ribbon.  In  the  presence  of  the  one 
from  whom  they  derive  a  reflected  importance,  they  are 
disregarded :  in  absence  they  may  become  infinitely  pre- 
cious. 

The  tie  between  mother  and  son,  in  that  period,  was 
peculiarly  tender.  The  father  might,  on  occasion,  give 
valuable  advice  on  matters  in  which  his  extensive  knowl- 
edge of  men  and  things  made  him  an  authority.  Rut  it 
was  to  the  mother  alone  were  laid  bare  the  inner  work- 
ings of  the  heart.  It  was  she  that  became  the  confidant 
of  the  first  half-unconscious  feelings  of  preference  toward 
some  fair  playmate.  It  was  she  that  advised,  cautioned, 
aided  as  far  as  she  might,  in  the  first  uncertain  steps 
toward  what  is,  after  all,  the  controlling  interest,  the 
central  event,  in  the  drama  of  life.  When  what  she  so 
earnestly  wished  and  labored  for  was  accomplished,  — 
when  she  saw  her  son  betrothed,  —  she  thenceforth,  with 
the  sublime  self-abnegation  of  woman,  kept  herself  in  the 
background.     She  acknowledged  the  right  of  the  future 


UTIS   AND    CLMENE.  165 

•wife  to  the   first  place,  where  hitherto  she   herself  had 
reigned  supreme. 

The  unfortunate  issue  of  his  early  love-affair  had  but 
tightened  the  bond  between  Utis  and  his  mother,  Zarene 
Palutha.  Yet,  anxious  as  he  was  to  please  her  in  every 
way,  there  was  one  matter  in  which  he  had  been  unable 
to  gratify  the  longing  of  her  heart.  Having  no  daughter 
of  her  own,  she  was  correspondingly  anxious  to  experi- 
ence the  hitherto  unknown  pleasure  arising  from  the  tie 
that  unites  mother  and  daughter. 

Utis  had  found,  that,  even  with  the  best  will,  it  is  not 
always  easy  for  a  son  to  gratify  a  mother  in  this  res[)ect. 
He  had  met,  indeed,  in  the  course  of  his  wanderings, 
many  a  fair  girl  whom  he  felt  he  could  learn  to  Ioa'c. 
But,  in  every  case,  they  were  alrcadj-  in  the  ranks  of  the 
senian.  His  mother's  delight  may,  accordingl}',  be  con 
ceived  when,  after  she  had  almost  resigned  herself  to 
seeing  her  son  a  confirmed  bachelor,  he  sought  and  won 
the  love  of  the  loveliest  viora  of  the  season  ;  for  such 
Ulmene  was  acknowledged  on  all  hands  to  be. 

Nor  had  she  to  wait  an  undue  time  l)cfore  she  saw  their 
union.  Twenty-three  was,  indeed,  the  usual  minunum 
age  for  the  bride  ;  while  Ulmene  was  only  seventeen  when 
Utis  returned.  But,  if  the  friends  saw  fit,  it  was  allowa- 
ble to  count  off  one  from  the  required  number  of  birth- 
days of  the  bride  for  every  two  by  which  the  groom's  age 
exceeded  the  twenty-five  legally  required  in  his  case. 
The  chief  reason  for  the  requirement  in  respect  to  age 
being,  to  secure  time  for  the  due  development  of  char- 
acter before  their  entrance  into  a  union  practically  indis- 
soluble, the  greater  age  and  experience  of  the  husband 


1G6  THE   DWTn.lS;     OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AUEAD. 

was  supposed  to  compensate  for  any  deficiency  in  tlieso 
respects  on  the  part  of  the  wife.  Hence  it  came  that 
Uhiiene  became  a  bride  soon  after  reaching  tlie  age  of 
twenty. 

It  was  during  their  wedding  journey  that  occurred  an 
incident,  unimportant  in  itself,  but  interesting  from  tlie 
side-light  it  throws  on  some  social  customs  of  the  period. 
While  on  their  return  from  Maoria,  Utis  turned  aside 
from  the  direct  route  in  order  to  show  his  bride  the  Falls 
of  the  Zaml)esi.  This  he  did,  not  ouly  on  account  of  the 
far-famed  grandeur  of  the  scene,  but  also  because  the 
spot  was  to  him  of  special  interest  from  its  associations 
with  an  important  crisis  of  his  life. 

Here  they  spent  a  day  in  wandering  along  the  palm- 
bordered  paths,  that,  skirting  for  miles  the  river-banks, 
afforded  easy  access  to  eveiy  point  of  advantage  for 
viewing  the  wondrous  combinations  of  rock,  and  flood, 
ami  luxuriant  tropical  foliage.  Partly  this  was  done  on 
foot,  but  mostly  by  curricle  ;  for  it  must  be  remembered, 
that  this  was  the  one  indispensable  piece  of  baggage  on 
such  a  trip. 

One  point  of  view  he  had  reserved  for  the  evening. 
After  they  had  surveyed  for  a  while,  in  awed  silence,  tlie 
white  deluge  of  waters  plunging  into  tlie  mist-covered 
abyss,  beneath  that  bright  tropical  moonlight  that  ren- 
dered more  awful  the  shadows  whence  arose  the  ceaseless 
voice  of  the  cataract,  Utis  began  to  tell  of  his  former 
visit.  He  had  then  been  one  of  a  party  of  six  zerdars  on 
furlough.  Telephone  in  hand,  each  had  attempted  to 
describe  to  some  loved  though  distant  ear  his  sensations 
and  impressions  in  presence  of  the  tremendous  cataract, 


UTIS   AND    ULMF.NE.  167 

the  very  roar  of  which  could  be  made  audible  over  the 
interveuing  thousands  of  leagues  of  laud  and  sea. 

Ulmeue  now,  for  the  first  time,  mentioned  something 
she  had  reserved  for  this  occasion.  To  his  surprise,  Utis 
learned  that  she  had  been  present,  on  that  occasion,  in  the 
parlor  of  Zarene  Palutha,  when,  as  they  sat  in  the  deepen- 
ing gloom  of  evening,  the  words  of  his  animated  descrip- 
tion came  resounding  over  the  wire  which  conveyed,  at 
the  same  time,  as  fitting  accompaniment,  the  deep  dia- 
pason of  those  distant  African  waters. 

"  As  you  moved  the  instrument  nearer  the  falls,"  she 
continued,  "your  voice  became  lost  in  the  ever-increasing 
volume  of  sound  whose  thunders  filled  the  apartment. 
All  drew  a  breath  of  relief  when  that  sublime  and  awful 
sound  decreased  to  its  former  comparatively  subdued 
tone,  from  amid  which  sounded  pleasingly  the  six-part 
'  Good-Night  Song '  sent  as  final  greethig  by  you  and 
your  companions  to  the  listeners  in  your  distant  homes. 

"  AVhen  all  the  rest  were  gone,  your  mother  and  I  sat 
for  a  long  time  before  the  flickering  wood-fire, — it  was 
toward  the  end  of  October,  —  and  talked  about  yow.  See- 
ing me  interested  in  what  she  said,  your  mother  next  pro- 
duced the  great  portfolio  of  views  you  had  taken  for  her 
in  every  part  of  the  world.  Finally,  while  we  were 
examining  the  last  likeness  of  yourself,  taken  some  years 
before,  she  asked  whether  I  should  not  like  to  see  you 
when  you  next  came  home.  At  that  time  I  had  not  seen 
you  for  many  years.  Though  I  merely  said  that  I  should 
be  glad  to  see  you,  she  kissed  me  very  tenderly,  and  said 
no  more,  except  that  it  was  fully  time  to  go  to  bed.  You 
returned  home  soon  after :  I  was  really  glad  to  see  you, 
and  have  been  glad  ever  since." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

VIOKA   AND    ZERUA. 

While,  as  we  have  seen,  the  young  men,  as  zerdars,  did 
service  to  tlie  community,  and  completed  their  education 
abroad,  the  girls,  whetlier  viora  or  zerua,  went  through  a 
somewhat  similar  experience  at  home.  It  was  by  their 
fair  hands  that,  under  skilful  guidance,  all  the  cooking 
and  baking  for  the  community  were  performed  at  the 
cooking  depots,,  or  laboratories  as  the}^  should  rather  be 
called.  Their  tasks  were  carefully  adjusted  to  their  years 
and  strength.  Besides,  the  muscular  exertion  required 
was  but  slight.  Machines  of  ingenious  construction, 
demanding  little  beyond  the  guidance  of  mind,  performed 
equally  the  most  laborious  and  the  most  complex  opera- 
tions. 

By  the  hands  of  the  maidens  of  the  communit}",  also, 
or,  rather,  under  their  guidance,  was  performed  the  large 
amount  of  laundr3^-work  rendered  necessary  b}'  the  fre- 
quent customarj-  changes  of  clothing.  Simple  as  the 
attire  of  tlie  period  was,  and  free  from  the  abomination 
of  starch,  tlie  amount  of  labor  required  for  the  laundry- 
work  of  a  family,  according  to  the  crude  metliods  now  in 
use,  would  have  been  very  considerable.  But  machinery, 
168 


VIORA   AND   ZERUA.  169 

almost  automatic  in  its  operation,  reduced  tlie  requisite 
labor  to  a  minimum. 

I  was  once  admitted,  under  the  escort  of  Ulmene,  to 
the  great  laundry  of  the  village.  I  was  filled  with  sur- 
prise, not  only  by  the  novelty  of  seeing  so  many  beautiful 
and  high-bred  maidens  engaged  in  what,  to  my  prejudices, 
was  so  humble  an  occupation.  Not  one  was  there  but 
could  trace  back  her  pedigree  through  thousands  of  years 
of  culture  and  refinement,  not  one  but  had  received  a 
training,  moral  and  intellectual,  such  as  is  at  present, 
even  for  the  most  favored,  a  dream  or  an  aspiration.  Yet 
each  was  attending  to  her  allotted  task  with  youthful  zeal, 
as  diligent,  as  well  as  graceful,  as  her  fair  prototype, 
Nausicaa,  amid  her  primitive  appliances. 

I  was  also  filled  with  astonished  admiration  at  the  amount 
of  ingenuity  that  had  been  expended  on  the  curious  me- 
chanical contrivances  that  met  my  eye  at  every  turn,  from 
the  huge  centrifugal  drier,  to  the  machine  that  turned  out, 
by  the  dozen,  garments  smoothly  mangled  and  neatly 
folded.  One  important  task  that  could  not  be  performed 
by  machinery  was  the  assorting,  and  packing  into  pan- 
niers, of  the  articles  belonging  to  each  household.  These 
panniers  were  then  stowed,  by  the  strong  arms  of  zerdars, 
in  the  locomotive  wagon  that  conve3'ed  each  to  its  des- 
tination. 

The  maidens  were  not,  however,  nearly  so  hard-worked 
as  the  5'oung  men  were  during  their  zerdarsJup.  Three 
hours  a  day,  and  that  only  on  alternate  weeks,  were  all 
that  was  required  for  these  communal  duties.  There 
were  some  domestic  duties  at  home.  But  these,  from  the 
scientific   construction    and  sensible    furnishing   of   their 


170  THE   D/OT/fAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

houses,  were  reduced  to  a  minimum.  There  was  no  over- 
taxiug  of  the  strength  of  tlie  inmates  in  the  care  of  rub- 
bish as  slightly  ornamental  as  it  is  useful,  fit  emljlem  of 
the  mental  furnishing  of  the  tasteless  idiots  that  brought 
it  into  vogue. 

Dressmaking,  that  other  source  of  female  slavery,  had 
become,  at  least  in  its  present  developments,  a  lost  art. 
Dresses  not  being  made  to  display  the  figure,  their  cut  and 
make-up  was  entirely  a  matter  of  machinery.  As  a  pre- 
occupation, dress  did  not  take  up  more  of  a  woman's  time 
than  is  now  devoted  to  the  matter  by  a  man  having  a 
decent  regard  to  his  outward  appearance.  It  must  not, 
however,  be  supposed  that  the  wives  and  the  daugliters  of 
the  tenth  chiliad  were  indifferent  to  their  personal  appear- 
ance. Their  toilet  was  brief,  simply  because  their  gar- 
ments were  so  sensibly  devised,  that  each  was  put  on  as 
easil}',  and  required  as  little  arrangement,  as  a  mantle. 
No  one,  seeing  the  graceful  folds  and  harmonious  coloring 
of  the  feminine  attire  of  that  period,  would  regret  the 
gaud}'  f ripper}',  the  costly  and  elaborate  combination  of 
shreds  and  patches,  that  now  disfigures  more  frequently 
than  it  adorns. 

Once,  while  turning  over- the  volumes  contained  in  my 
host's  library,  I  came  upon  an  old  author  of  the  fifty-sixth 
century.  Some  remarks  of  his  on  this  subject  struck  ]ue 
as  being  not  so  far  from  the  truth,  considering  the  preju- 
dices of  his  age,  and  the  great  remoteness  of  the  period 
of  which  he  was  treating. 

"  The  leading  characteristics  of  the  feminine  costume 
of  this  period,"  — the  writer  was  discoursing  of  the  clos- 
ing centuries  of  the  second  chiliad,  — ''  its  general  iuele- 


VI  OR  A   AND   ZERUA. 


171 


gance,  its  extravagance,  its  strange  vacillations  between 
an  unbecoming  exposure  and  an  overloading  of  the  person, 
its  sudden  and  capricious  changes,  may  all  be  traced  to  the 
struggle  between  two  opposing  influences.  On  the  one 
side'was  a  class  of  creatures  for  whom  our  language  no 
longer  has  a  name.  Reckless  of  cost,  caring  for  nothing 
so  much  as  to  attract  attention,  as  devoid  of  real  taste  as 
of  self-respect,  they  gave  the  predominating  tone  to  what 
was  then  called  fashion.  This  was  especially  the  case  in 
that  country  whose  taste  in  feminine  costume  was  long 
slavishly  copied  by  other  nations.  Here  their  influence 
was  stronger  and  more  openly  exercised  than  in  any  other 
laud.  Tliey  were  actually  a  political  power,  sometimes 
the  highest.  A  meretricious  art  and  a  corrupting  litera- 
ture were  their  worthy  allies  and  ministers.  They  were 
backed  by  all  the  interests  whose  account  lay  in  extrava- 
gance of  costume. 

"The  matrons  and  daughters  of  the  period,  as  yet  with- 
out any  direct  influence  upon  legislation,  and  unused  to 
acting  in  concert,  had  neither  the  ability  to  contend  against 
the  influences  that  degraded  their  sex,  nor  the  spirit  to 
abstain  from  an  unworthy  imitation.  They  seem  to  have 
been  content  to  copy  and  modify  —  sometimes  in  matters 
of  more  importance  than  dress  —  what  they  should  have 
rejected  with  the  disdain  due  to  the  source  whence  it  ori- 
ginated. It  generally  happened,  that,  as  in  other  copies 
from  a  bad  original,  the  more  glaring  defects  were  exag- 
gerated:  the  good  points,  if  any,  disappeared.  True 
taste  in  feminine  attire  first  became  possible  when  woman 
ceased  from  the  endeavor  to  recommend  herself  chiefly  by 
what,  at  most,  is  but  an  accessory  to  her  true  charm." 


172  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

All  this,  no  doubt,  is  extremely  incorrect,  3"et  may  rest 
on  a  substratum  of  truth. 

From  the  causes  above  mentioned,  the  maidens,  both 
vioran  and  zeruan,  having  a  considerable  amount  of 
leisure,  were  able  to  prosecute  their  higher  education  with 
even  more  assiduity  than  their  busier  brothers.  In  litera- 
ture and  art  woman  was,  in  fact,  pre-eminent.  Men, 
though  by  no  means  ignorant  of,  or  indifferent  to,  the 
more  graceful  culture,  showed  generally  a  predilection  for 
the  exact  sciences. 

Distinguished  artists  would  occasionally  appear  among 
the  male  sex,  just  as  eminent  geometers  or  scientists  would 
among  the  women.  But,  as  a  rule,  the  whole  range  of 
tlie  fine  arts  and  of  imaginative  literature  had  long  become 
the  special  province  of  the  sex  whose  finer  nervous  or- 
ganization gave  a  special  advantage  in  those  directions. 
Her  powers  of  invention  and  execution  had  long  ceased 
to  be  open  to  the  sneering  scepticism  that  seemingly  ex- 
pects from  the  one  sex,  amid  many  discouriigements,  and 
with  little  or  no  training,  what  appears  only  exceptionally 
from  the  crowded  and  well-trained  ranks  of  the  other,  — ■ 
that  rare  flowering  of  a  union  of  natural  endowment 
with  resolute  perseverance,  to  which  is  given  the  name  of 
genius.  Discussion  as  to  the  superiority  of  either  sex 
would,  to  the  contemporaries  of  Utis  and  Ulmene,  have 
seemed  as  ridiculous  as  a  question  in  regard  to  the  greater 
necessity  of  one  or  the  other.  Their  difference  of  men- 
tal endowment  was  recognized  as  one  of  qualit}',  not 
of  quantitj'.  To  compare  them  was  as  vain  as  tlic  en- 
deavor to  strike  a  balance  between  a  Ca3sar  and  a  Homer, 
a  Newton  and  a  llaphael,  a  AVatt  and  a  Shakspeare. 


riORA  AND  ZERUA.  173 

It  would  be  useless  to  enumerate  the  long  list  of  female 
names  that,  in  the  ninety-sixth  century,  had  become 
famous  in  the  higher  walks  of  literature.  Yet  the  works 
on  which  rested  their  title  to  fame  are  not  more  unknown 
than  are  really  those  of  Newton  and  Shakspeare  to  the 
great  majority  of  those  who  now  unhesitatingly  admit 
their  surpassing  superiority. 

As  scientific  investigators,  women  had  shown  a  special 
predilection  for  chemistry  and  biology,  as  was  readily 
seen  on  referring  to  au}'  of  the  standard  works  on  those 
subjects.  As  inventors  they  had,  since  education  gave 
them  a  grasp  of  the  principles  of  mechanics,  enriched 
the  world  with  man}'  notable  inventions. 

Of  these  I  will  mention  only  two,  both  in  photography, 
or,  rather,  in  the  extensive  field  of  applied  science  of 
which  photograph}-  is  merely  the  humble  beginning. 
These  I'emarkable  iuA^entions,  called  respectively  the  var- 
zeo  and  the  Uzeo,  were,  indeed,  characteristically  feminine 
in  their  purpose  and  application,  as  were  the  great  ma- 
jorit}-  of  woman's  inventions.  By  means  of  the  one  she 
was  enabled,  as  in  a  magic  mirror,  and  almost  as  well  as 
if  there  present,  to  behold  those  distant  scenes  to  which 
she  had  less  free  access  than  man, — before  marriage,  at 
least.  B}-  means  of  the  other  was  presented  to  her  eyes, 
endowed  with  the  movement  of  life,  the  loved  form  sepa- 
rated by  distance  or  death. 

I  have  already'  mentioned  that  Talma  made  photography 
her  specialty.  One  day,  by  special  invitation,  I  was 
admitted  to  her  studio.  She  engaged  me  in  an  animated 
discussion  on  some  topic  —  what,  I  do  not  remembi'r  — 
while  she  appeared  to  be  busied  in  making  some  adjust- 


174  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

mcuts  in  the  curious  instrument  beside  wliicli  she  stood. 
Presently  she  produced  for  my  inspection  an  extensive 
collection  of  sun-pictures,  and,  while  I  was  occupied  with 
these,  went  on  with  her  preparations,  as  I  thought,  for 
taking  my  portrait,  to  obtain  which  was  one  object  of  my 
visit. 

"  It  is  an  undoubted  success,"  were  the  words  by  which 
she  drew  my  attention. 

"A  success,  —  in  what?  "  said  I,  looking  up  from  the 
collection  of  views,  which  certainly  were  worthy  of  my 
complete  absorption  in  them. 

"  Look  here,"  she  replied,  pointing  to  the  table  before 
her. 

On  approaching,  I  found  the  entire  table  covered  with 
a  number  of  portraits  of  myself.  How  they  had  been 
taken,  I  could  not  at  first  imagine  ;  for  1  had  not,  to  my 
knowledge,  been  "  posing,"  in  any  sense  of  the  term.  A 
closer  examination  somewhat  explained  the  seeming  mys- 
tery. I  had  been  "taken"  on  the  wing,  as  it  were. 
Each  portrait  showed  a  slight  change  of  position  from 
that  shown  in  the  preceding  one  of  the  series. 

In  all  this,  however,  there  was  nothing  specially  won- 
derful. I  had  seen  something  similar  effected  in  regard  to 
horses,  though  with  infinitely  more  trouble,  and  far  less 
nicety  of  result.  It  was  not  till  a  few  hours  after  that  I 
discovered  the  full  scope  of  the  invention. 

"  You  will  be  better  able  to  judge  of  the  result,"  said 
lalma,  "  when  you  see  them  in  the  Uzeo." 

I  had  not  the  slightest  notion,  at  the  moment,  as  to  what 
was  referred  to  by  this  new  term,  —  whether  a  locality, 
or  a  piece  of  apparatus.     According  to  my  wont  in  such 


VIORA   AND  ZERUA.  175 

cases,  I  asked  no  questions  that  might  betray  an  alarming 
ignorance.  Even  should  I  find  no  opportunity  of  seeking 
enlightenment  from  Utis,  the  explanation  would  present 
itself  in  due  time. 

In  the  evening,  after  dinner,  a  small  piece  of  furniture 
was  rolled  forward  on  casters  from  the  corner  where  I 
had  frequently  noticed  it,  and  supposed  to  be  some  kind 
of  sewing-machine.  A  knob  being  pressed  by  lalma,  a 
small  electric  light  within  lighted  up  a  sort  of  niche,  in 
which  was  seen  one  of  the  portraits  taken  in  the  morning. 
It  was,  however,  increased  in  size,  had  its  coloring  fully 
developed,  and  showed  a  peculiar  stereoscopic  effect  for 
which  I  could  not  account. 

lalma  pressed  another  knob,  and  the  picture  seemed 
endowed  with  life  and  voice.  I  —  for  it  was  indeed  my- 
self, reduced  to  one-twelfth  of  my  natural  dimensions  — 
I  seemed  to  turn  from  regarding  some  object  to  my  left, 
toward  which  I  had  been  pointing.  The  movement  of 
eyes,  lips,  of  every  feature,  was  in  exact  unison.  I  rec- 
ognized what  was  seemingly  uttered  by  m}"  miniature 
double,  as  an  Inquiry  put  by  me  in  the  morning.  The 
whole,  action  and  speech,  occupied,  perhaps,  thirty  sec- 
onds, then  could  be  repeated,  with  or  without  the  voice, 
as  often  as  desired. 

The  voice  was  due,  of  course,  to  a  concealed  phono- 
graph, which,  as  well  as  the  fact  that  I  was  focussed  ui 
the  camera,  had  purposely  been  kept  out  of  sight,  so  as 
not  to  interfere  with  that  naturalness  of  expression  other- 
wise so  difficult  to  obtain.  An  ingenious  piece  of  mechan- 
ism caused  the  series  of  pictures  to  pass  rapidly  before 
the  niche,  at  such  a  rate  as  to  cause  the  visual  impressions 


17G  THE  DIOTHAS;    OR,   A  FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

SO  to  overlap  as  to  produce  the  illusion  that  the  figure  seen 
was  actually  in  motion. 

The  Uzeo,  as  I  discovered,  was  an  instrument  found  in 
every  household.  B3'  means  of  it,  not  onl}-  the  absent 
living  could  be  made  to  speak  before  our  eyes,  but  also 
the  dead,  even  of  remote  ages.  Every  family  possessed 
a  very  complete  series  of  famil}'  portraits  adapted  to  this 
instrument.  These  were  taken  and  perpetuated  by  a  pro- 
cess that  rendered  them  practically  indestructible. 

My  host  kindly  allowed  me  access  to  the  safe  in  which 
was  preserved  this  peculiar  species  of  family  archives. 
Thev  afforded  a  reliable  means  of  becoming  acquainted 
with  the  farail}'  histor}'  to  the  I'cmotest  period.  P^or  con- 
nected with  each  set  of  portraits  was  a  brief  autobio- 
graphical sketch  of  the  leading  events  in  the  life  of 
the  person  represented.  Though  not  extending,  in  gen- 
eral, be3'ond  the  limits  of  a  monumental  inscription,  they 
possessed  the  one  merit  to  which  our  epitaphs  can  most 
rarely  lay  claim  :  they  were  strictly  accurate. 

An  account  of  the  varzeo  I  must  defer  to  another  occa- 
sion. It  was  an  instrument  of  somewhat  too  comi)lex  a 
nature  for  general  private  use.  But  one  was  to  be  found 
among  the  apparatus  of  every  village  institute,  where  it 
was  employed  as  shall  afterwards  be  described. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

niata's  request. 

ITtis  having  explained  the  matter  to  me,  I  was  not  sur- 
prised when,  on  the  morning  following  our  visit  to  Nuiorc, 
we  descended  to  the  workshop  at  the  usual  hour.  This  pro- 
ceeding was,  it  is  true,  strongly  contrary  to  the  prejudices 
of  my  early  training  ;  yet  I  could  not  but  acknowledge  tliat 
there  was  much  reason  in  the  view  taken  of  the  matter. 
Day  of  rest  as  it  was,  the  ordinary  wants  of  tlie  body  had 
to  be  attended  to ;  and  not  least  among  these  was  con- 
sidered the  exercise  necessary  to  keep  the  body  in  health. 
On  this  day,  accordingly,  all  performed  about  one-half  of 
their  usual  morning  task.  But  not  only  was  the  lal)or 
thus  reduced  by  one-half  :  the  proceeds  were  scrupulously 
set  apart  as  a  contribution  to  the  general  fund.  This,  as 
we  have  seen,  was  a  fund  devoted  to  the  noblest  purposes. 
The  only  direct  benefit  to  the  worker  from  the  morning's 
labor  was  the  maintenance  of  his  pliysical  and  moral  health. 

It  was  now  I  first  obtamed  some  insiglit  mto  the  religious 

thought  of  the  period.     Though  somewhat  staggered  by 

many  things  that  ran  counter  to  my  preconceived  opinions, 

I  could  not  help  seeing  that  these  people  were  religious  in 

the  highest  sense  of  the  term. 

177 


178  THE   DIOTUAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

Man  hud  not,  as  he  advanced  in  power  and  moral  dig- 
nity, reasoned  himself  into  the  belief  that  he  is  merely  a 
fortuitous  concourse  of  atoms,  differing  onl}-  in  degree  of 
complexity  from  a  lichen  or  a  monad.  The  more  knowl- 
edge advanced,  the  more  difficult  was  it  found  to  believe 
that  this  divine  something,  this  apparently  boundless  capa- 
city for  improvement,  these  far-reaching  aspirations  after 
a  higher  existence,  was  merely  a  resultant  of  the  blind 
re-action  of  matter  upon  matter. 

The  change,  to  me  so  surprising,  from  the  sceptical  man 
of  science  of  those  former  days  to  the  Utis  now  known  to 
me,  was  entirely  typical  of  the  general  change  in  the  atti- 
tude of  scientific  thought  towards  the  most  important 
questions  that  can  engage  the  attention  of  man.  Fulness 
of  knowledge  had  removed  many  of  the  stumbling-blocks 
of  half-knowledge.  Psychology'  had  become  a  real 
science.  The  most  complex  operations  of  the  intellect 
could  be  resolved  into  their  elementary  components  with 
all  the  precision  now  attained  in  the  analysis  of  matter. 
Yet  all  tended  more  and  more  toward  compelling  a  belief 
in  the  existence  of  an  archetypal  mind,  a  pre-arranging, 
all-embracing  power. 

I  have  no  intention  of  entering  into  a  detailed  statement 
of  the  prevailing  forms  of  belief.  The  heterodoxy  of  one 
age  is  the  orthodoxy  of  another :  the  devout  sentiment  of 
one  would  be  outraged  by  the  current  belief  of  a  succeed- 
ing age.  I  need  merel}'  state,  that  all  believed  in  a  God, 
and  in  a  future  existence.  There  were  two  great  schools 
of  thought  on  this  subject,  which,  in  their  general  charac- 
teristics, reminded  me  of  the  saying,  that  all  men  are  born 
either  Platonists  or  Aristotelians.     To  one  or  other  of 


NTATA'S  REQUEST.  179 

these,  iudividuals  gave  their  assent,  iu  accordance,  as  far 
as  I  could  judge,  with  an  inborn  mental  bias. 

This  was  the  more  clearly  perceptible,  seeing  that  all 
were  left  perfectly  free  to  follow  this  bias.  Parents  did 
not  feel  justified  in  prejudicing  the  case  by  impressing 
their  own  religious  opinions  upon  the  unformed  and  help- 
less minds  of  children.  When  the  proper  time  came,  the 
distinctive  views  of  the  divine  nature  were  displayed  before 
the  youth  or  maiden,  with  a  warning  not  to  come  to  a 
hasty  decision.  At  least  a  year  of  reflection  was  enjoined 
before  they  should  definitely  unite  with  one  or  the  other 
communion. 

Breakfast,  on  this  morning,  passed  off  much  as  usual, 
except  that  the  customary  concert  was  omitted.  Not  long 
after  nine  arrived  Reva,  accompanied  by  her  father,  whom 
I  now  saw  for  the  first  time.  Hulmar  Edial  was  of  un- 
usually tall  stature,  even  for  tlie  men  of  that  period. 
His  unthinned  locks  and  heavy  beard  showed  here  and 
there  a  thread  of  premature  gray  amid  the  original  ruddy 
brown,  —  a  color  no  longer  so  common  as  at  present,  and 
another  sign  of  the  original  Scandinavian  stock  whence 
the  Edials  had  sprung.  Reva,  for  her  part,  was  a  genuine 
Diotha  in  feature, — one  good  reason,  no  doubt,  for  the 
tender  regard  with  which  the  father's  eye  would  dwell  on 
the  features  so  strongly  recalling  those  of  the  wife  so 
dearly  loved  and  so  early  lost. 

This  loss  had  left  deep  traces.  Among  the  slightest 
were  those  premature,  though  few,  gray  hairs.  For  he 
was  onl}'  fifty-two,  while  sixty  was  then  considered  an 
early  age  for  these  signs  of  age  to  appear.  A  deeply 
lined    forehead    gave    evidence   of    long-continued    and 


180  THE   DIOTJIAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

strenuous  thought,  as  did  also  the  features,  fmed  down 
almost  to  emaciatiou.  From  beneath  his  strongly  una  ked 
eyebrows  flashed  the  most  penetrating  eyes  1  had  ever 
seen.  Iluluiar  Edial,  indeed,  was  a  man  to  whom  in- 
tense labor  was  a  necessity  as  well  as  a  delight,  the  one 
refuge  from  the  unavailing  remembrance  of  a  happiness 
irrevocably  past. 

His  case  was  by  no  means  uncommon.  The  more 
precious  the  treasure,  the  more  grievous  its  loss :  the 
more  intimate  the  union  of  hearts,  the  more  bitter  the 
premature  separation.  The  haunting  fear  of  such  a 
separation  was  the  one  bitter  drop  in  the  comparatively 
unmmgled  cup  of  life  in  those  da^'s.  I  was  the  more  able 
to  appreciate  this  fact  after  a  confidential  conversation 
with  Utis  not  long  subsequent  to  the  time  of  which  we 
are  speaking.  The  conversation  had  turned  upon  Hul- 
mar,  and  the  great  loss  he  had  sustained.  While  speak- 
ing of  this,  the  voice  of  Utis  faltered  ;  and,  after  a  pause, 
he  confided  to  me  his  own  apprehensions. 

"You  are  already  aware  that  our  race,  though  greatly 
improved  in  general  health  and  longevit}-,  is  barely  main- 
tained at  its  present  number.  This  is  in  accordance  with 
a  well-known  ph3'siological  law.  The  average  number  of 
children  to  a  marriage  is  a  little  above  two,  but  the  num- 
ber of  mothers  able  to  boast  of  more  than  two  livuig 
children  is  scarcely  sufficient  to  compensate  for  the  de- 
ficiency in  other  families.  The  absence  of  children  in  a 
household  being  regarded  as  the  greatest  of  calamities, 
the  want  must,  in  many  cases,  be  supplied  by  adoption. 

"A  mother  with  onl}-  two  children  would  never  consent 
to  surrender  one,  except,  perhaps,  to  a  childless  sister,  or 


NIATA'S  REQUEST.  181 

dearly  loved  friend.  But  the  mother  blessed  with  more 
than  two  can  rarely  close  her  heart  to  the  pitiful  solicita- 
tions of  wives  less  happy  than  themselves,  to  wliom  is 
wanting  this  crowning  glory  of  womanhood.  By  a  curi- 
ous reversal  of  conditions,  such  a  mother  is  now  very 
much  in  the  position  of  those  childless  but  wealthy 
persons  so  frequently  referred  to  in  the  literature  of  your 
period :  she  is  the  much-courted  possessor  of  a  coveted 
treasure.  Even  among  the  mothers  of  two  children,  she 
occupies  a  proud  position.  They  have  done  but  their 
duty :  she  has  done  as  much,  and  has  besides  been  able 
to  confer  the  only  greatly  coveted  gift  it  is  now  in  human 
power  to  bestow. 

"I  am,  at  present,  looking  forward  to  an  event  that 
may  make  my  wife  a  very  proud  woman,  or  me  a  very 
wretched  man.  I  have  but  too  much  reason  to  dread  as 
well  as  to  hope.  From  causes  in  regard  to  which  there 
has  been  much  dispute,  the  fact  is  but  too  certain,  that 
motherhood,  though  a  greater  glory  even  than  of  yore, 
is  also  a  greater  danger.  Ulmene,  strange  to  say,  looks 
forward  with  hope  and  exultation :  it  is  I,  she  thinks, 
need  comfort  and  encouragement.  She  is  right.  When 
I  think  of  what  may  be,  my  heart  sinks  within  me  •,  and  I 
wonder  whether  I  shall  be  able  to  imitate  the  quiet  en- 
durance of  my  friend  Ilulmar. 

'"  By  some  of  the  ways  in  which  such  matters  become 
known,  this  anticipated  event,  though  yet  fully  half  a 
year  in  the  future,  has  already  become  the  cause  of 
numerous  kmswomen  offering  congratulations,  and  urging 
each  her  claim  to  consideration.  P'or  these  applications 
arrive,    not   from   the    absolutely   childless    only.      The 


182  THE   nWTfTAf!;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

mother  who,  though  blessed  with  a  son,  has  ceased  to 
hope  for  a  daughter,  lougs  for  one,  and  vice  versa. 

"  Uhuene  was  strangely  moved  by  the  letter  of  a  for- 
mer schoolmate.  The  writer  humljly  acknowledged  there 
were  many  having  a  prior  claim  to  favor,  as  she  was  but 
distantly  related  to  her.  But  she  conjured  her,  Ijy  the 
memory  of  their  girlish  intimacy,  to  take  her  case  into 
consideration.  She  had  now  been  married  for  about  tea 
years, — years  of  happiness  till  the  sweetest  hope  of  mar- 
riage began  to  fade  away.  Her  husband  was  as  kind  as, 
even  kinder  than,  ever,  seeing  her  unhappiuess.  But 
even  he,  at  times,  seemed  to  feel  the  lack  of  that  b}'  his 
fireside  to  which  they  once  had  looked  forward  with  confi- 
dent anticipation.  Dearly  as  she  loved  him,  she  would 
be  willing  to  see  him  the  husband  of  another,  if  thereby 
this  unexpressed  longing  could  be  satisfied.  But,  as  this 
could  not  be,  all  that  remained  was,  to  seek  to  obtain, 
from  the  compassion  of'  her  highly  favored  friend,  what 
God  had  denied  to  herself. 

"This  letter,"  continued  Utis,  "decided  the  matter. 
According  to  the  custom  observed  in  such  matters,  Niata 
Diotha-Mornu  will,  as  it  is  called,  serve  a  year  for  her 
adopted  child.  That  is,  she  comes  to  our  house,  and  re- 
mains for  a  3'ear.  She  is  the  first  to  welcome  the  little 
one ;  it  is  she  that  takes  entire  charge  of  it,  under  the 
mother's  direction.  At  the  end  of  the  year  she  leaves 
for  her  own  home  with  her  adopted  child,  to  which  she 
has  henceforth  all  a  mother's  right.  The  real  mother 
suffers,  indeed,  at  the  separation  ;  but  conscious  of  the 
liappiness  she  has  conferred,  and  which  none  is  in 
better   condition   to    appreciate    than   a   happy   mother, 


NIATA'S  REQUEST.  183 

certain  that  the  little  one  will  lack  neither  love  nor 
care,  she  stifles  what  she  recognizes  as  a  merely  selfish 
regret,  and  seeks  consolation  in  the  love  of  her  remaining 
children." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SOCIAL   ARRANGEMENTS. 

Soon  after  the  ai'iival  of  Hulmar  and  his  daughter,  we 
all  took  our  phaees  iii  the  curricles,  and  set  out  for  the 
place  of  meeting.  When  Ulmene  took  the  seat  by  her  hus- 
band's side,  I  entertained,  for  a  moment,  the  hope  that 
lahna  would  take  a  seat  beside  her  prospective  father ; 
and  then  Reva  —  but  such  half-formed  expectations  were 
scattered  by  a  moment's  reflection.  That  was  out  of  the 
cpiestion.  As  it  was,  each  of  the  J'oung  ladies  took  one 
of  the  children  to  fill  the  spare  seat  in  her  curricle. 
Hulmar  was  thus  left  to  seek  a  seat  beside  me,  which  was 
offered  and  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course. 

There  was  small  opportunity  for  conversation  on  the 
way.  The  whole  population  seemed  to  be  on  wheels. 
So  attractive  was  the  spectacle,  that,  could  I  have  found 
a  pretext  for  so  doing,  I  would  fain  have  intrusted  to  ray 
companion  the  guidance  of  the  vehicle,  so  that  I  could 
give  myself  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  many-hued  panorama 
that  moved  on  flashing  wheels  beneath  tlie  cloudless  July 
sun.  We  had  soon  lost  sight  of  the  rest  of  the  party, 
but  there  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  road  to  follow.  All 
that  was  necessary  was,  to  follow  the  stream.     As  might 

184 


SOCIAL  ARRANGEMENTS.  185 

be  expected,  the  pace  was  mncli  more  moderate  than 
when  the  roads  were  less  thronged.  Though  our  speed 
was  not  above  ten  miles  an  hour,  it  required  all  the  skill 
and  attention  of  a  novice  to  guide  our  vehicle  so  as  to 
avoid  the  suspicion  of  ignorance. 

Of  the  building  to  which  I  followed  the  stream,  and  of 
the  service  there  held,  I  will  sa}-  nothing  further  than 
that  there  was  much  less  change  in  externals  than  I  might 
have  expected.  I  was  chiefly  interested  in  the  aspect  of 
the  congregation.  The}'  really  seemed  to  enjoy  the  occa- 
sion that  brought  them  together.  I  missed  the  pervading 
characteristics  of  our  present  congregations,  —  that  air  of 
almost  funereal  solemnity,  that  scarce!}^  suppressed  ex- 
pression of  superior  moral  rectitude  apt  to  accompany 
the  performance  of  a  not  especially  agreeable  duty.  In- 
stead, there  was  an  air  of  quiet  satisfaction  entirely  new 
to  me  under  the  circumstances. 

The  children  attended  a  sort  of  Sunday-school,  where 
they  received  instruction  in  morals,  and  in  the  funda- 
mental truths  of  natural  theology.  Their  instructors  were 
chiefl}'  the  3'oung  people  not  yet  admitted  to  tlie  assemV-tly 
of  those  who  had  definitely  adopted  a  doctrine  and  a  com- 
munion. 

It  was  justly  considered,  that  the  attempt  to  force  diffi- 
cult questions  upon  the  notice  of  immature  or  unprepared 
minds  will  generally  result  in  a  permanent  aversion  to 
the  entire  subject  of  which  they  form  a  part.  The  3'oung 
people,  accordingly,  instead  of  acceptmg  a  certain  series 
of  propositions  of  the  most  abstract  character  with  duti- 
ful resignation,  were,  on  the  contrary,  usually  eager  for 
that   more  advanced  knowledge  reserved  for  theii"  riper 


186         THE  DIOTHAS;   OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

years.  Nor  were  they  able  to  gratify  a  premature  curi- 
osity by  the  reading  of  works  not  intended  for  their 
perusal. 

Tlie  explanation  of  how  the  perusal  of  unsuitable  works 
could  be  prevented  forces  me  to  another  digression.  This 
prevention  was  effected  by  a  contrivance,  that,  more  than 
any  of  the  material  achievements  I  have  mentioned,  might 
well  excite  the  envy  of  those  in  the  present  age  who  are 
puzzled  by  the  difficulty  of  reconciling  freedom  of  print- 
ing with  a  proper  regard  to  the  reverence  that  even  the 
heathen  satirist  claimed  as  due  to  youthful  purity. 

Although,  as  already  mentioned,  there  was  but  one  uni- 
versal language,  there  were  two  entirely  different  methods 
of  printing  that  language.  One  method  was  alphabetic, 
as  among  us  ;  that  is,  by  means  of  thirtj'-six  characters 
—  twelve  representing  vowel  sounds  —  they  could  spell 
all  the  words  of  their  language. 

The  other  method  was  syllabic,  and  arose  as  follows : 
Some  of  the  causes  by  which  the  language  had  been 
formed  and  changed  have  already  been  adverted  to. 
The  most  miportaut  cause  of  change,  however,  had  been 
the  persistent  effort,  which  became  at  last  a  fixed  ten- 
dency, to  render  the  language  more  euphonious  by  the 
suppression  of  all  consonants  not  required  for  the  separa- 
tion of  the  vowel  sounds. 

The  number  of  different  syllabic  combinations  in  use 
had  thus  been  reduced  to  about  five  hundred.  To  repre- 
sent all  of  these,  onl}'  two  hundred  and  fifty  characters 
were  necessary  ;  since,  for  cxami)le,  the  character  repre- 
senting the  syllable  pronounced  ros  (meaning  a  horse), 
when  used  in  the  reverse  position  was  read  sor.     These 


SOCIAL   ARRANGEMENTS.  187 

syllabic  characters  were  not  arbitrary.  They  had  been 
iudicated  by  the  phonograph,  the  extensive  use  of  which 
had  re-acted  very  strongly  on  pronunciation,  by  necessi- 
tating a  clear,  precise  enunciation  of  each  syllable. 

The  words  of  most  frequent  use  in  the  language  had 
been  reduced  to  monosyllables  :  there  was  a  large  number 
of  dissyllables,  a  much  smaller  number  of  trisyllables  ;  and 
no  words  of  more  than  three  syllables  were  tolerated.  It 
had  thus  become  possible  to  introduce  a  printed  character 
that  held  the  same  relation  to  ordinary  print  that  short- 
hand does  to  current  hand. 

Books  printed  in  this  character  were  very  compact,  but 
could,  of  course,  be  read  only  by  those  who  had  learned 
to  distinguish  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  characters  above 
mentioned ;  as  I  had  already  discovered  to  my  cost.  I 
could  read  the  ordinary  print,  but,  at  the  time  now  re- 
ferred to,  had  mastered  only  a  few  dozen  of  the  lonna 
character.,  as  it  was  called. 

I  found  the  study  most  fascinating,  though  sometimes 
tantalizing.  A  whole  sentence,  otherwise  clear,  would  be 
rendered  incomprehensible  by  the  presence  of  a  word 
necessitating  recourse  to  the  syllabary  with  which  Utis 
had  provided  me.  In  this  way  I  was,  as  it  were,  gradu- 
ally spelling  my  way  through  Eured  Thiusen's  book,  in 
which  I  was  becommg  more  and  more  interested. 

The  youth  of  both  sexes  were  taught  these  characters 
by  degrees  ;  a  complete  knowledge  of  them  beuig  regarded 
as  neither  necessary,  nor,  indeed,  desirable,  till  the  attain- 
ment of  majority.  There  was  no  deprivation  in  this,  for 
almost  the  whole  store  of  intellectual  wealth  accumulated 
during    so  many  ages  was  open  to  them  in  the  common 


188  THE  DIOTUAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

character.  It  was  strictly  prohibited  to  priut  in  tlie  com- 
mon character  any  reading  of  a  kind  unsuitable  for 
unripe  minds.  Short  of  this,  there  was  complete  liberty 
of  printing. 

On  one  occasion,  when  conversing  with  Utis  on  this 
matter  of  unsuitable  literature,  I  heard  him  express  himself 
with  the  utmost  indignation  in  regard  to  our  carelessness 
about  a  matter  concerning  the  highest  interests,  both  of 
state  and  famih\  He  could  not,  indeed,  find  words  strong 
enough  to  utter  his  amazement  at  the  cynical  indifference 
of  our  legislators  in  regard  to  what  the  prejudices  of  his 
education  taught  him  to  look  upon  as  one  of  the  most 
abominable  of  crimes,  —  the  pollution  of  the  mind  of 
j-outh  by  means  of  printed  filth. 

"A  little  more  than  two  thousand  years  before  your 
time,"  he  went  on,  "  the  people  of  a  certain  great  city 
were  accustomed  to  sacrifice  their  children  to  an  idol. 
What  was  the  opinion  of  your  period  regarding  this?  " 

' '  It  was  regarded  by  all  that  ever  heard  of  it  as  an 
abomination,  a  wickedness  almost  inconceivable,"  was 
my  reply. 

"  Yet,  in  my  opinion,"  said  Utis,  "  their  conduct  was 
noble  and  humane  in  comparison  with  that  of  j'our  con- 
temporaries. In  their  blind  way,  these  people,  whom  3'ou 
so  abhorred,  were  doing  their  duty  as  the}'  understood  it, 
while  yours  shamefully  neglected  theu's. 

"  There  is  a  certain  tragic  grandeur  in  the  idea  of  a 
father  giving  up  his  best  beloved,  perhaps  his  only  child, 
to  perish  in  fieiy  torments,  in  order  to  insure  the  safet}' 
of  the  commonwealth.  We  pity,  we  almost  admire,  even 
while  we  condemn.     The-  fathers  of  your  tmies  I  cannot 


SOCIAL   ARRANGEMENTS.  189 

but  despise  when  I  think,  that,  whether  from  indifference 
or  cowardice,  they  allowed  devilish  miscreants  to  earn  a 
despicable  livelihood  by  poisoning  the  mind  of  youth. 
To  my  mind,  the  fiery  death  of  the  young  Carthaginian 
was  preferable  to  the  moral  death  to  which  the  fathers  of 
your  period  seemed  willing  to  have  their  children  exposed. 
In  the  name  of  common  sense  and  decency,  what  strange 
influence  was  at  work,  that  parents  tolerated  for  a  single 
day  the  existence  of  such  an  iniquity?  What  were  j'our 
legislators  about?  Was  property,  in  those  days,  of  more 
importance  tiian  life,  life  than  moral  purity?  " 

"If  you  knew  any  thing  of  the  average  character  of 
the  legislators  then  sent  from  our  city,"  replied  I,  "  you 
would  not  be  surprised  at  any  thing  they  did,  or  left  un- 
done. They  generally  represented,  and  were  themselves 
of,  the  lowest  of  the  low.  As  for  the  parents,  many  saw 
and  deplored  the  evils  to  which  you  refer,  but  could  effect 
little  against  banded  greed,  ignorance,  and  vice.  Even 
when,  by  great  efforts,  a  useful  piece  of  legislation  could 
be  carried  through,  its  execution  was  intrusted  to  officials 
elected  mainly  through  the  influence  of  the  vicious  classes, 
with  whom  they,  accordingly,  more  or  less  openly  sjanpa- 
thized." 

"What  you  say,"  said  Utis  musingly,  "  agrees,  upon 
the  whole,  with  the  little'we  know  of  the  state  of  things 
in  that  misty  past.  One  thing,  however,  surprises  me. 
All  history  enforces  the  truth,  that,  in  general,  a  people 
enjoys  about  as  good  a  goA-ernmcnt  as  it  deserves  ;  tliat 
the  character  and  conduct  of  the  rulers  fairly  reflect 
that  of  the  ruled.  Do  you  mean  to  say,  that,  in  your 
time,  the  vicious  classes  formed  a  majority  of  your  popu- 
lation?" 


I'JO  THE   DIOTIIAS,    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

"  That  could  hardly  be  maintahied,"  replied  I. 

"  How,  then,  could  they  coutrol  the  more  intelligent 
majority?  "  inquired  Utis. 

''It  was  the  old  story  of  union  against  disunion,"  said 
I.  "The  vicious  classes,  or,  rather,  the  more  intelligent, 
who  acted  as  leaders,  and  whom  the  rest  followed  like 
sheep,  knew  what  they  wanted,  and  took  the  shortest  way 
to  obtain  it.  The  intelligent  majority,  as  you  call  it,  did 
not,  for  the  most  part,  know  exactly  what  thej^  wanted, 
or,  when  they  did  know,  differed  greatly  as  to  the  best 
way  of  obtaining  it.  In  other  words,  they  belonged  to 
different  political  parties.  Now,  a  party  means  organi- 
zation ;  and  every  organization  tends  to  become  a  mere 
machine  in  the  hands  of  those  who,  for  good  or  evil, 
have  managed  to  get  their  hands  on  the  controlling  lever. 
The  control  of  both  political  machines  being,  at  that  lime, 
in  the  hands  of  men  equally  intent  on  selfish  ends,  the 
well-meaning  citizen  saw  himself  reduced  to  impotence 
between  two  gangs  of  corrupt  schemers,  who  adroitly 
played  into  each  other's  harids. 

"  Besides  these  two  sets  of  self-seekers,  who  were,  per- 
haps, rather  contemptuously  indifferent  to,  than  actively 
hostile  to,  moralit}-,  there  existed  a  class,  small,  indeed, 
in  numbers,  but  powerful  for  mischief  from  their  loud 
shrieking  and  confident  self-assertion.  Tiiis  was  the  new 
sect  of  the  Phrasolators.  Though  loud  in  derision  of  all 
the}'  termed  superstition,  i.e.,  any  thing  they  did  not 
choose  to  believe,  they  were  themselves  the  abject  slaves 
of  a  strange  delusion.  Having  made  to  themselves  a 
fine-sounding  phrase,  the  more  of  a  platitude  the  better, 
they  would  straightwa}'  fall  down  and  worship  it,  and 
invite  the  world  to  do  likewise. 


SOCIAL   ARRANGEMENTS.  191 

"  The  high-priests  of  this  grotesque  cult  were  usually 
toleraut  of  a  whole  pautheou  of  deified  i)hrases,  though 
naturally  reserving  their  special  homage  for  the  pet  plati- 
tude or  catch-word  of  their  own  invention,  in  the  worship 
of  which  they  sometimes  played  strange  antics.  No 
devout  Romanist  ever  believed  more  implicitly  in  the 
virtues  of  some  favorite  relic  than  did  the  followers  of 
this  new  sect  in  the  efficacy  of  high-sounding  phrases  for 
the  regeneration  of  mankind.  Phrases  were  to  eradicate 
ingrained  vices :  the  magic  powex  of  phrases  was  to 
change  the  nature  of  human  wolves.  If  the  maltreated 
sheep  complained  that  the  said  wolves  showed  small  sign 
of  the  promised  change,  the  complaiuers  were  either 
silenced  by  an  eloquently  phrased  denial  of  the  facts,  or 
were  comforted  by  the  assurance,  that  wolves  would  at 
last  cease  to  rend  if  not  irritated,  —  wOuld  lose  their  taste 
for  mutton  if  allowed  time  to  satiate  their  appetites. 

"  Their  patronage  was  an  injur^^,  even  to  what  was  in- 
trinsicalh'  valuable.  Liberty  of  the  Press,  Trial  by  Jury, 
Popular  Government,  had  the  misfortune  to  be  placed 
among  the  idols  of  the  Phrasolators.  All  associated 
with  these  phrases,  or  asserted  to  be  so,  was  too  sacred 
for  discussion :  criticism  was  sacrilege.  No  matter 
though  the  press  became  a  poisoned  fountain,  the  jury 
system  a  mere  convenience  for  facilitating  the  escape  of 
criminals,  the  suffrage  the  cogged  dice  of  political  trick- 
sters :  no  change  was  to  be  tolerated,  except  in  the  direc- 
tion of  further  degradation. 

''  These  phrasemongers  were  frequently  themselves  of 
pure  life  and  character,  tlKMigh  the  more  or  less  indirect 
abetters  of  vice,  of  much  culture  though  little  common 


192  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

sense.  The  mischief  they  effected  was  chiefly  by  the 
cloak  of  deceuey  their  advocacy  would  throw  over  a  cause 
that  would  have  fared  but  poorly  if  left  iu  its  naked 
deformity  to  the  advocacy  of  its  natural  guardians." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ISMAR   MEETS    HIS   COUSINS. 

We  had  arrived  not  long  before  the  hour  for  entering 
the  building  designed  for  religious  purposes.  Tliis,  it 
may  be  remarked,  was  of  considerable  size  and  stately 
aspect,  and  stood  in  the  centre  of  a  large  open  space, 
planted  with  trees,  some  of  which  seemed  coeval  with 
the  venerable  edifice  itself.  The  building  consisted  of  two 
stones.  The  lower  story  was  assigned  to  the  use  of  the 
younger  portion  of  the  communit3\  The  upper  story, 
divided  into  two  almost  equal  portions,  afforded  places  of 
assembly  to  the  two  great  divisions  of  religious  thought. 
Because  they  differed  honestly  on  certain  speculative  sub- 
jects, it  was  not  considered  necessary  that  they  should 
either  hate  or  despise  each  other.  On  the  contrary,  the 
members  of  the  one  communion  frequently  resorted  to 
the  services  of  the  other. 

It  thus  came  about  that  this  building  became,  once  a 
week  at  least,  the  gathering-point  of  almost  the  whole 
population  of  the  district.  Indeed,  much  of  the  social 
life  of  a  neighborliood  centred  round  these  stated  meet- 
ings of  kinsmen  and  neighbors. 

Imitating  the  example  of  the  rest,  I  left  my  curricle  at 

193 


194  THE   DFOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

the  station  assigned  on  one  side  of  the  square,  and  ac- 
companied Fluhnar  to  the  door,  where  Utis  was  awaiting 
my  arrival.  I  was  now  presented  to  an  astonishing 
number  of  kinsfolk.  Every  one,  indeed,  seemed  to  be 
the  relative,  more  or  less  remote,  of  every  one  else.  All 
these,  I  understood,  and  began  to  believe,  were  relatives 
by  my  mother's  side.  As  for  the  Thiuseus,  they  formed, 
I  sui)pose,  with  their  allied  families,  no  inconsiderable 
fraction  of  the  population  of  Maoria. 

As  we  came  forth  from  the  religious  service, — it  ap- 
peared to  be  taken  for  granted  that  1,  or  he  that  I  repre- 
sented, was  entitled  to  the  privilege  of  admission  with 
the  elders, — I  found  Reva,  who  was  not  yet  one  of  the 
privileged,  waiting  for  us  at  the  door.  Beside  her  stood 
Eured  and  Esna,  the  son  and  daughter  of  my  host. 

"  We  have  come  to  present  3'ou  to  some  of  your 
cousins,"  said  Reva.  "We  have  promised  to  bring 
you." 

Such  a  summons  was,  of  course,  not  to  be  resisted. 
I  walking  beside  Reva,  the  children  led  the  way  to  one 
of  the  numerous  class-rooms  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
building.  Eured  first  presented  me  to  a  number  of  boy- 
cousins  of  about  his  own  age ;  P^sna  next,  in  another 
room,  to  my  girl-cousins.     I  then  followed  Reva. 

In  an  apartment,  of  which  all  I  recollect  is,  that  it  was 
very  pretty  and  very  cheerful,  —  my  attention  at  the  time 
was  better  occupied  than  in  examining  its  details,  ■^- in 
this  apartment  I  was  led  in  upon  a  cluster  of  al)0ut 
twenty  of  my  fair  cousins.  Their  ages  ranged  from  fif- 
teen, or  so,  to  about  twenty.  Each  might  have  been 
selected  as  a  distinct  type  of  lovely  maidenhood.     There 


ISMAR   MEETS   HIS    COUSINS.  195 

were  blue  eyes,  dark  eyes,  hazel  and  gray  ej'es.  There 
was  hair  blond  and  curly,  hair  dark  and  wavy,  with  vari-. 
ous  intermediate  shades,  but  all  hanging  unconfiued,  after 
the  manner  of  the  unpledged  viora. 

Even  as  we  approached  the  open  door,  there  was  already 
audible  tlie  hum  of  animated  conversation.  Gu-ls,  in  all 
periods,  will  talk,  it  seems,  though  not  always  in  such 
pleasantly  modulated  tones  as  those  that  now  reached  my 
ear.  There  was  a  sudden  hush  upon  our  entrance,  and 
twenty  pairs  of  briglit  eyes  were  centred  upon  my  person. 
There  was  neither  shyness  nor  boldness  in  the  look,  but 
merely  an  expression  of  friendly  interest  that  seemed  to 
say,  '^  We  have  been  expecting  3-ou,  and  are  glad  to  see 
you." 

"You  see,  girls,"  said  Reva,  assuming  an  air  of  mock 
proprietorship  that  I  could  have  wished,  though  I  could 
not  say  exactly  why,  just  a  little  less  self-possessed,  — 
"  this  is  our  cousin  Ismar.  They  have  been  dying  to  see 
you,"  said  she,  turning  to  me  with  a  laugh.  "Now,  I 
hope  they  will  not  be  disappointed." 

At  this  there  was  a  general  laugh,  and  all  came  for- 
ward to  offer  the  hand  of  cousinship.  I  could  have 
wished  it  had  been  permissible  to  offer  a  cousinly  kiss. 
The  inducement  and  the  temptation  were  great.  But, 
duly  instructed  by  Utis,  I  refrained. 

"  What  Ivcva  says  is  true,"  said  a  tall,  stately  girl,  as 
she  gave  me  her  hand.  "Though  not  exactly  dying,  we 
did  very  much  wish  to  see  you.  I  am  your  first  cousin, 
Semna  Diotha." 

"I  am  3'our  third  cousin,  Udene  Vadarna,"  next  said, 
with  a  slight  lisp,  a  pretty  blonde  of  fifteen,  and  so  on 
through  all  tlie  rest. 


196  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

It  was  a  pleasant  sensation  to  l)e  the  centre  of  a  bevy 
of  lovely  cousins,  each  anxious  to  say  something  i)leas- 
ant  and  kind.  It  was  a  state  of  things  to  which  I  had  no 
objection.     But  Reva  too  soon  put  an  end  to  it  by  say- 

iugS  — 

"I  promised  lalma  to  bring  you  back  soou.  She,  too, 
has  some  introductions  to  make." 

Though  not  without  some  natural  curiosity  in  regard  to 
my  remaining  cousins,  it  was  with  no  slight  regret  that  I 
turned  to  follow  my  fair  guide.  AVe  had  not  proceeded 
far  along  the  corridor,  when  we  could  hear  the  renewal  of 
the  animated  conversation  we  had  interrupted  by  our 
entrance. 

"•  We  were  all  very  curious  to  see  j'ou,"  observed  Reva, 
as  we  went  on.  "You  are  the  first  cousin  we  have  seen 
from  so  far.  We  are  busy,  just  now,  making  arrange- 
ments for  celebrating  the  hundredth  birthday  of  our 
great-grandmother,  yours  too,  Semna  Diotlia." 

"  May  not  I,  too,  take  part  in  the  celebration  ?  "  said  I, 
moved  less,  I  am  afraid,  by  consideration  for  my  revered 
ancestress,  than  by  admiration  for  her  lovel}'  descendants. 

"Of  course,"  replied  Reva.  "There  is  to  be  a  gath- 
ering of  her  descendants  from  all  quarters.  Your  mother 
and  sister  have  promised  to  be  here  in  time  for  lalma's 
wedding,  which  is  a  few  days  earlier." 

This  unexpected  announcement  afforded  me  so  much 
food  for  reflection,  that  I  walked  along  ni  silence  till  we 
were  met  b}^  lalma.  Reva  then  excused  herself,  on  the 
ground  that  her  presence  was  expected  in  the  place  where 
we  had  left  our  cousins. 

I  need  say  little  of  my  presentation  to  my  remaining 


ISMAR  MEETS   HIS   COUSINS.  197 

relatives.  It  would  have  puzzled  me,  however,  to  deter- 
miue  whether  the  palui  of  beauty  was  due  to  the  girlish 
grace  of  the  vioran  of  the  uucoufiued  and  silken  tresses, 
or  to  the  more  self-poised  aud  perfected  beauty  of  the 
zeruan  with  the  braided  locks.  Tiie  first,  perhaps,  ex- 
cited more  interest;  the  latter,  more  admiration.  As  for 
my  male  cousins  between  the  ages  of  eighteen  and  twen- 
ty-five, they  were,  with  few  exceptions,  absent  as  zerdars. 
Of  other  young  men,  however,  —  and  fine  young  fellows 
they  were,  —  there  was  a  number  fully  compensating  for 
the  absent  sons  of  the  soil. 

"  We  take  our  mid-day  meal  in  common  to-day,"  said 
Utis,  when  I  had  been  surrendered  to  him  by  lalma. 
Under  his  guidance  I  approached  an  extensive  building 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  esplanade. 

It  was  of  marble,  and  apparently  of  considerable  anti- 
quity. In  style  it  differed  in  many  particulars  from  the 
other  public  l)uildings  of  the  place.  Around  the  outside, 
and  surrounding  the  inner  quadrangular  space,  were  spa- 
cious- colonnades,  supported  by  slender  pillars,  whose 
capitals  were  conventionalized  forms,  suggested  by  cars 
of  ripened  maize  with  half-pendent  husk.  This  edifice, 
so  well  preserved  externally,  was  the  gift  of  a  former 
son  of  the  place,  who,  some  twehe  hundred  years  before, 
had  thus  adorned  his  native  village.  He  had  thus  effect- 
ually perpetuated  his  memory,  and  left  an  enduring  ob- 
ject of  legitimate  pride  to  the  bearers  of  his  name  during 
fifty  generations. 

"  We  cannot  boast  of  so  ancient  a  town-hall  as  can  be 
shown  in  many  other  villages,"  said  Utis,  as  we  paused 
a  moment  to  survey  it.  "  But  it  is  considered  a  fine 
specimen  of  the  then  prevailing  style." 


108  TITE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

The  upper  story  contained  extensive  apartments  for 
public  meetings,  comniittee-rooiiis,  and  a  large  library. 
In  the  lower  was  a  spacious  dining-hall,  with  magnificent 
panelled  ceiling  and  walls.  Nuniei-ous  pieces  of  statuary 
were  disposed  in  appropriate  positions  throughout  the 
hall,  and  paintings  of  great  merit  adorned  the  walls.*^ 
Each  was  the  masterpiece  of  a  native  artist.  P^ach  had 
considered  the  artistic  labor  of  a  lifetime  well  bestowed 
if  its  crowding  result  could  achieve  the  honor  of  being 
thought  worthy  to  grace  the  walls  of  the  public  hall, 
there  to  meet  the  gaze  of  cultivated  appreciation,  or 
kindle,  perchance,  the  spark  of  slumbering  genius. 

"When  we  entered,  most  of  the  space  was  occupied 
by  numerous  round  tables,  similar  to  that  with  which  I 
had  become  familiar  in  the  home  of  Utis.  B3'  a  special 
mechanism,  however,  each  of  these  tables,  with  its  cebin, 
could  be  made  to  sink  till  the  u[)per  surface  of  the  table 
formed  the  bottom  of  a  shallow  recess.  These  recesses 
being  filled  with  closely  fitting  covers,  there  was  left  an 
luiencnmbered  hall  of  magnificent  proportions.  Such  was 
the  apartment  in  which  the  entire  community  now  sat 
down  to  dine. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

A   PUBLIC    DINNER. 

I  SAT  down  with  litis,  but  not  with  our  usual  company. 
The  ladies  and  children  had  seceded  to  other  tables. 
Their  places  were  occupied  by'Hulmar,  the  two  Siureds, 
who,  as  they  often  did,  had  escaped  from  the  city  for  the 
day.  Besides  these,  there  were  two  zerdars  on  service  in 
the  village,  and  acquainted  with  Hulmar.  On  being  in- 
troduced, I  found  that  one  of  these  gentlemen  —  for  such 
they  were,  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word  ;  though  their 
duties  were  of  somewhat  humble  character,  accoixling  to 
present  notions  —  came  from  Norway,  the  other  from 
Central  Asia.  Yet  m  neither  could  I  detect  any  thing  in 
accent  or  manner  to  distmguish  tliem  from  those  born  on 
the  banks  of  the  Hudson.  They  showed  the  same  good- 
breeding,  had  manifestly  enjoyed  like  educational  advan- 
tages. 

The  scattering  of  families  at  these  public  dinners  was, 
I  saw,  entirely  a  matter  of  choice.  The  ladies,  having 
matters  of  mutual  interest  to  discuss,  were  apt  to  congre- 
gate at  tables  by  themselves.  The  men,  partly  for  a  like 
reason,  partly  because,  being  thus  forsaken,  they  had  no 
choice  in  the  matter,  were  apt  to  get  together  too.    Tliere 

199 


200  THE   DTOTTTAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

existed  about  the  same  freedom  in  selecting  a  table  as, 
among  us,  in  choosing  the  group  to  which  to  become  at- 
tached in  a  drawing-room.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  social  occa- 
sion, on  which  those  who  had  not  met  during  the  week 
found  opportunity  for  accompUshing  in  a  pleasant  man- 
ner much  of  what  is  acconii)lished  among  us  by  the  dreary 
iutcrmediance  of  formal  calls. 

The  dinner,  for  such  it  was,  went  on  much  as  at  home. 
Every  thing  needful  had  been  placed  by  careful  and  prac- 
tised hands  in  the  cebin:  nothing  was  wanting  to  a  com- 
plete meal.  It  was  strange  and  interesting  to  see  that 
vast  hall  filled  with  animated  groups  of  diners,  and  not  a 
waiter  to  be  seen.  Occasionally  one  of  the  children  would 
flit  across  the  scene,  carrying  a  message  or  inquiry  from 
one  ta1)le  to  another. 

Music,  too,  was  there,  but  not  that  of  man's  devising. 
By  means  of  a  suitable  arrangement  of  the  telephonic 
apparatus,  the  roar  of  Niagara  was  brought  to  our  ears, 
just  so  much  subdued  in  tone  as  to  serve  as  a  background 
to  the  conversation.  It  was  difficult  for  me,  at  times,  not 
to  imagine  myself  once  more  at  the  Clifton  House,  with 
the  wind  setting  from  the  Falls.  On  other  occasions  I 
have  heard,  instead  of  the  voice  of  the  cataract,  the  cease- 
less surge  of  the  storm-vexed  billows  against  some  rocky 
coast,  of  Maine  perhaps,  Alaska,  or  Norway ;  or,  again, 
the  nndtitudinous  voices  of  some  distant  tropical  forest, 
awakenuig  into  life  beneath  the  morning  sun,  would  be 
heard  blended  into  a  musical  murmur. 

The  couA'ersation  at  our  tal)le  was  that  of  men  who 
were  full}'  conversant  with,  and  had  bestowed  earnest 
thought    upon,  the  topics  discussed.     For  the  llrst  time 


A   PUBLIC  DINNER.  201 

in  my  Experience,  I  listened  to  real  conversation.  Each 
contributed  his  part,  listened  with  intelligent  interest,  or 
said  what  he  had  to  say,  with  a  complete  freedom  from 
that  blight  of  rational  intercourse,  —  the  self -conscious- 
ness that  seems  ever  on  its  guard, 

I  was  satisfied  to  play  the  part  of  listener  till  a  turn  in 
the  conversation  led  the  younger  Siured  to  refer  to  the 
ancient  notation,  in  which  he  had  become  highly  inter- 
ested. There  were  still  some  difficulties,  of  which  he 
hoped  to  obtain  an  ex[)lanation  from  me. 

"You  are  exactly  the  person  to  help  me,  also,"  said 
Hnlmar,  when,  at  his  request,  the  elder  Siured  had  re- 
counted to  him  the  incident  of  the  formula,  which  seemed 
to  excite  in  him  a  lively  interest. 

He  then  explained  to  me,  that  it  was  exactly  the  diffi- 
culties he  met  with  in  tracing  the  early  history  of  his 
favorite  science  that  still  delayed  the  completion  of  his 
forthcoming  work. 

"  The  material,"  said  he,  "  for  the  later  history  of  the 
science  is  superabundant  and  easily  accessible.  But  that 
for  its  earlier  stages,  though  probaljly  abundant  enough, 
IS  difficult  of  access,  both  from  its  existing  in  languao-es 
the  knowledge  of  which  is  confined  to  a  very  few,  and 
from  its  being  overlaid  by  the  ruins  of  so  many  successive 
systems,  that  to  reach  it  is  like  digging  to  seek  the  relics 
of  some  long-l)uried  city.  "We  know  the  treasures  are 
there,  but  know  not  where  to  seek." 

The  accuracy  of  this  remark  I  had  subsequently  good 
cause  to  appreciate,  when  endeavoring  to  avoid  losing 
myself  amid  the  bewildering  accumulations  of  the  hun- 
dred million  volumes  of  the  Central  Depository. 


202  THE    DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

Iliilmar  was  yet  speaking  when  Ulmene  approached  our 
table,  and  produced  from  a  small  basket  four  small  ro- 
settes. Each  rosette  was  of  two  colors.  The  red  and 
blue  she  handed  to  Anvar  Siured,  whose  countenance  I 
could  see  light  up  as  soon  as  he  saw  himself  the  destined 
recipient  of  this  particular  rosette.  Why,  I  did  not  thea 
know,  but  was  soon  to  learn. 

After  each  of  the  zenlars  at  table  with  us  had  received 
a  rosette,  I  also  became  the  recipient  of  a  blue  and  white 
one.  Without  knowing  whj',  —  for  Utis  had  forgotten  to 
tell  me  of  this  custom,  —  I  imitated  the  others  in  fasten- 
ing it  to  the  breast  of  my  tunic.  I  looked  at  Utis  inquir- 
ingl}'.  He  onl}'  smiled,  —  an  explanation  of  so  universal 
a  custom  would  have  excited  natural  surprise,  —  but  I 
gathered  from  his  answering  glance  that  I  need  merely 
imitate  the  others. 

The}'  at  once  rose,  and  proceeded  down  the  hall  as  if 
each  in  quest  of  some  one.  Anvar  alone  knew  whom  he 
sought.  He  went  straight  to  where  Reva  was  sitting  at 
table  with  some  of  the  fair  cousins  to  whom  I  had  been 
presented  that  morning.  I  now  noticed,  for  the  first  time, 
what  Auvar  had  known  since  the  moment  of  his  arrival, 
that  her  colors  were  red  and  blue,  —  blue  the  border  of 
her  tunic,  red  the  ribbon  in  her  hair.  When  Anvar  ap- 
proached where  she  sat,  and  bowed  silently  before  her, 
the  sight  gave  me  an  inexpressible  pang.  It  was  some 
slight  comfort  to  observe  nothing  in  her  reception  of  him 
that  indicated  any  response  to  what  I  had  seen  flash  up 
in  the  eyes  of  Anvar  on  receiving  the  rosette.  She  po- 
litely acknowledged  his  salutation,  motioned  hmi  to  an 
unoccupied  seat,  and  weut  on  quietly  with  what  she  had 
been  saying. 


A  PUBLIC  DINNER.  203 

Seeing  that  lalma,  who  sat  at  a  table  near  by,  wore  the 
colors  of  my  rosette,  I  drew  near,  and  made  my  bow. 
She  pointed  to  a  seat  beside  her,  saying,  with  a  smile  that 
set  me  quite  at  ease,  — 

"  Ulmene  has  been  ver}'  kind  :  I  asked  her  to  have  3'ou 
assigned  to  me  as  aid." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  general  movement,  and  we 
rose  with  the  rest. 

"  I  have  an  easy  department  assigned  to  my  share," 
said  she,  looking  at  a  tablet  she  held  in  her  hand  ;  I  mean- 
while walking  by  her  side,  following  the  crowd.  We 
descended  to  the  spacious  basement  beneath  the  dining- 
hall,  whither  the  cebins  had  descended.  Here,  we  mcu 
having  hung  our  outer  tunics  on  pegs,  which  left  us  in 
a  sort  of  lawn-tennis  suit,  and  the  ladies  having  changed 
their  outer  tunics  in  an  adjoining  apartment,  whence  they 
emerged  in  sober  working-slips  with  short  sleeves,  all  set 
to  work  to  clear  away,  much  as  at  home. 

To  lalma  and  me  was  brought  the  plate  as  soon  as  it 
was  washed.  This  we  packed  b}'  sets  in  proper  recep- 
tacles ;  and  I,  under  her  direction,  raised  the  sometimes 
heavy  cases,  and  placed  them  in  numbered  recesses  on 
shelves.  At  first,  having  but  little  to  do,  I  had  time  to 
single  out  the  spot  where  Reva  stood  busily  engaged  with 
Anvar  in  putting  away  the  crystal  and  porcelain  as  it  was 
brought  to  them. 

'•Thev  are  a  handsome  couple,"  remarked  lalma,  with 
a  smile  half  mischievous,  half  demure,  when  she  observed 
the  attraction  the  aforesaid  spot  seemed  to  have  for  my 
eyes. 

The  correctness  of  the  remark  could  not  be  denied, 


201  THE   DWTflAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

and  I  made  some  reply  to  that  effect.  I  could  not  but 
acknowledge  to  myself,  that  rarel3-  had  I  seen  a  figure 
more  graceful  and  manly  than  Anvar's.  The  close-fitting 
undress-suit  displa^-ed  to  advantage  his  athletic  form  as 
he  raised  heavy  loads  with  apparent  ease,  and  placed 
them  on  the  shelves  above.  When  lalma  perceived  my 
state  of  mind,  and  divined  the  cause,  with  true  womanly 
tact  she  strove  to  divert  my  thoughts  by  chatting  gayly  ou 
other  subjects. 

"As  you  are  under  my  orders  for  the  afternoon,"  said 
she,  during  an  interval  of  slackness,  "  I  want  you  to  take 
me  over  to  Nuval.  Semna  Diotha-Nuval " — this  I 
recognized  as  the  full  name  of  my  maternal  great-grand- 
mother—  "  will  expect  you  to-daj'." 

I  was  somewdiat  surprised,  but  not  at  all  displeased, 
at  this  announcement.  Next  to  Eeva,  there  was  none 
whose  society  I  would  prefer  to  that  of  lalma.  There 
had  sprung  up  between  us  as  strong  a  liking  as  can  exist 
without  a  trace  of  sentiment  between  two  young  persons 
of  different  sexes.  I  was  surprised  because  the  thing 
proposed  seemed  to  me  so  contrary  to  the  prevailing  cus- 
tom. But,  so  far,  I  had  learned  only  the  broad  outlines, 
not  the  nice  shadings,  of  social  etiquette. 

The  reason  for  the  prohibition  of  a  viora's  riding  out 
with  an  unbetrothed  man  was  not  any  unworthy  suspicion, 
but  the  earnest  wish  to  prevent  rash  or  premature  engage- 
ments. A  matron  could  ride  out  with  any  one  ;  a  zeriia, 
with  any  one  not  objected  to  by  her  relatives,  or  those  of 
her  betrothed,  a  mere  hint  in  such  a  case  l)eing  all-suffi- 
cient. A  viora^  agam,  could  ride  out  with  any  married 
or  betrothed  man,  unless  forbidden  to  do  so. 


A   FUBLfC  n  INNER.  205 

All  infractions  of  the  received  rules  of  womanl}'  pro- 
priety came  under  the  cognizance  of  a  special  triljunal  of 
matrons.  By  these  the  offender  might  either  be  privately 
admonished,  or  publicly  rebuked  before  a  full  meeting  of 
matrons,  zeruan,  and  sometimes  vioran.  To  such  meet- 
ings no  man  was  ever  admitted,  and  the  proceedings  were 
as  carefully  guarded  as  those  of  freemasonry.  All  that 
Utis  could  tell  me  was,  that  a  rebuke  from  the  tribunal 
was  greatly  dreaded,  and  that  it  was  severe,  even  against 
what  wc  would  regard  as  extremely  trivial  offences 
against  decorum.  As  for  those  graver  slips,  that,  even 
in  these  coarse  days,  sometimes  cause  the  members  of  an 
honorable  family  to  writhe  in  an  agon}'  of  injured  pride, 
they  were  never  heard  of.  Whether  they  never  occurred, 
or  were  effectually  prevented  from  becoming  known,  I 
cannot  say. 

The  almost  absolute  authority  of  a  father  over  his  off- 
spring was  regarded  as  the  main  safeguard  of  the  social 
system.  Till  their  marriage,  the  father  had  unquestioned 
power  of  life  and  death  over  his  children.  Till  then  he 
was  held  responsible  for  them  :  to  him  the  community 
gave  full  power  to  train,  to  restrain,  and  to  punish.  If 
son  or  daughter  died  witliin  the  father's  house,  it  was  the 
business  of  no  outsider  to  inquire  why  or  how.  A  parent's 
natural  affection  was  relied  on  to  restrain  undue  seveiity. 

Such  power  as  this  it  would,  no  doubt,  be  unwise  to 
intrust  to  all  parents  in  the  present  day,  seeing  how 
many  there  are  with  no  claim  to  that  sacred  name  beyond 
the  animal  fact.  Yet  an  occasional  case  of  excessive 
severity  would  be  preferable  to  the  present  decay  of  pa- 
rental control,  —  a  tendency  promoted  to  the  full  extent 


20G  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

of  their  power  by  certain  Plirasolators  whom  an  unfortu- 
nate chance  has  afforded  opportunity  to  air  their  hobbies 
upon  the  judgmeut-seat.  To  these  sapient  Dogberrys,  the 
uiiklest  physical  correction  is  an  outrage,  even  when  ap- 
plied to  check  the  downward  course  to  a  life  in  compari- 
son with  which  the  most  cruel  death  would  be  mere}'. 
But  an  ass  will  munch  his  thistle,  no  doubt,  and  a  fool 
worship  his  phrase,  till  asses  and  fools  have  ceased  to  be. 
It  was  a  committee  of  matrons,  that,  on  such  occasions 
as  this  referred  to,  assigned  to  each  zerua  and  viora  her 
partner  for  the  day.  As  regards  the  vioj-an,  they  usually 
had  assigued  to  them  a  betrothed  zerdar.  Occasionally, 
however,  as  in  the  case  of  Anvar  Siured,  an  eligible  suitor 
would  be  so  assigned,  when  the  parents  on  both  sides  re- 
garded a  possible  engagement  as  desirable.  It  was  only 
to  this  extent  that  a  maiden's  choice  was  ever  interfered 
with  by  her  parents.  If  her  partner  for  the  day  asked 
her  to  take  an  excursion  in  his  curricle,  she  usually  ac- 
ce[)ted,  as  an  act  of  politeness,  and  dutiful  acquiescence 
in  what  she  understood  to  be  the  wish  of  her  parents,  and 
bound  up  her  locks  for  the  occasion.  If  the  suitor,  thus 
given  an  opportunity-,  was  able  to  plead  his  cause  with 
success,  the  maiden  would,  on  their  return,  allow  her 
locks  to  remain  as  when  she  rode  away,  —  a  sign  that  her 
temporary  partner  had  become  a  suitor  on  probation. 
But  most  frequently  she  re-asserted  her  privilege  as  a 
viora,  a  matter  on  which  the  maidens  were  justly  sensitive. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


ANVAR  S    FAILURE. 


The  foregoing  details  being  unknown  to  me  a,t  the  time, 
my  surprise  may  be  imagined,  when,  shortly  after  all  had 
returned  up-stairs,  I  saw  Reva  re-enter  the  hall,  with  her 
beautiful  hair  arranged  after  the  manner  of  the  zeruan. 

I  had  known  she  was  coming  ;  for  my  eyes  had  not 
rested  till  they  lighted  on  Anvar,  who  seemed  to  T)e  await- 
ing the  entrance  of  some  one  through  a  certain  door. 
He,  poor  fellow,  was  probably  a  prey  to  a  stronger  con- 
flict of  feeling  than  even  myself.  He  had  hazarded 
much  upon  a  manoeuvre  known  to  be  risky.  But  to  me 
the  demeanor  of  my  rival  —  for  as  such  I  suddenly  rec- 
ognized him  —  seemed  the  easy  confidence  of  assured 
success.  Devoured  with  a  secret  rage,  I  could  not  turn 
my  e3"es  from  that  direction. 

lalma,  who  stood  beside  me,  probably  felt  that  it 
would  be  both  useless  and  cruel  to  endeavor  to  divert  the 
direction  of  my  eyes.  She,  accordingly,  strove  good- 
naturedly  to  keep  me  in  countenance  by  talking  of  a 
picture  that  hung  near  the  door  in  question.  When  Reva 
came  forth,  she  was  very  pale,  but,  ah  !  more  beautiful 
than  ever.  Anvar  advanced  to  meet  her,  and  they  left 
the  hall  together. 

207 


208  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

"Let  me  show  you  tliis  figure,"  said  m}'  companion, 
advancing  siiddenl}'  toward  the  painting  ))efore  mentioned. 
"Look  at  the  picture,  not  at  me,  while  I  speak,"  said 
she  hurriedly.     "  Do  not  look  so  strange  :  be  a  man  ! 

I  murmured  something  inaudible  in  reply,  while  obey- 
ing her  injunction  so  far  as  to  seem  busily  occupied  with 
the  picture,  though  feeling  at  the  moment  utterly  indiffer- 
ent to  every  thing  in  the  world,  now  that  its  chief  treas- 
ure was  lost  for  me. 

"■I  aril  sorry  for  Anvar,  poor  fellow,"  continued  lalma 
in  the  same  tone. 

"Why  need  you  grieve  for  him?"  said  I,  somewhat 
bitterly.  "  Is  he  not  successful?  Has  he  not  ever}'  rea- 
son to  be  happy  ? ' ' 

"  Reva  has  gone  with  him,  indeed,  but  because  custom 
so  requires.  I  know  her,  however,  and  can  see  that  her 
heart  is  hardened  against  him.  You  will  see  whether  I 
judge  correctly." 

AVitli  heart  greatly  lightened  by  these  few  words,  I 
now  left  the  hall  with  m}'  kind-hearted  monitress.  The 
elders,  and  many  of  the  younger  people,  were  scattered 
in  groups  along  the  marble  colonnades,  or  under  the  shade 
of  the  wide-spreading  trees.  The  children,  engaged  in 
various  pastimes,  flitted  about  with  the  grace  and  activity 
of  humming-birds.  The  prevalent  notions  of  a  day  of 
rest  did  not  include  that  of  its  beuig  also  a  day  of  pen- 
ance and  unnatural  quietude  for  the  young. 

AVhen  we  reached  the  place  where  I  had  left  m}'  curri- 
cle, Reva  and  Anvar  were  already  out  of  sight,  Utis 
and  Ulmene  just  about  to  start.  Receiving  a  direction 
to  follow  Utis  meanwhile,  I  started  off  at  a  rapid  pace 


ANVAR'S  FAILURE.  209 

after  him.  I  endeavored,  after  a  while,  to  re-opeu  the 
conversation  upon  the  subject  that  lay  nearest  my  heart ; 
but  lalina  diverted  the  conversation  after  a  brief  expla- 
nation. 

"•I  have  already  said  more  than  I  ought,  perhaps," 
said  she.  "  But  3'ou  really  looked  so  unhappy,  that  I 
could  not  help  saying  something.  I  may  say,  however, 
what  everybody  has  a  right  to  know.  Hulniar  and  An- 
var's  father  are  friends  of  long  standing,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  Hulmar  would  be  pleased  to  have  Anvar  as 
son-in-law.  Who,  indeed,  would  not?  But — 1  have 
strong  doubts  that  he  ever  will." 

After  this,  to  me,  comforting  assurance,  she  turned  our 
conversation  into  other  channels.  This  was  the  easier 
to  do,  since  it  was  her  task  to  introduce  me  to  the  coun- 
try through  which  we  were  gliding  on  our  noiseless 
chariot.  There  was  not  a  house  of  which  she  could  not 
both  relate  the  history  and  define  the  exact  relationship 
of  its  inmates  to  mj'self. 

Presently  we  came  in  sight  of  our  destination.  The 
home  of  Semua  Diotha-Nuval  was  prettil}-  situated  on  a 
rising  ground  overlooking  the  Hudson,  not  far  from  where 
Peekskill  now  stands.  My  anticipations  in  regard  to  my 
venerable  relative  proved  entireh*  wrong.  Instead  of  an 
invalid  confined  to  her  chair,  I  found  an  energetic  little 
lady,  whose  age  I  should  have  placed  about  midway 
between  sixty  and  seventy.  She  had  an  abundance  of 
lovely  white  hair,  and  her  keen  gray  eyes  were  full  of 
expression. 

She  sat  like  a  queen  surrounded  by  her  court, — in 
this  case  her  full-grown  descendants  of  three  generations ; 


210  THE   DIOTIIAS;   OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

among  the  group  being  Reva,  Semna  Diotha,  — my  near- 
est cousin, —  and  her  father.  Auvar  stood  on  one  side, 
cahn,  but  pale,  and  with  by  no  means  the  expression  of  a 
happy  lover.  AVhile  talking  with  me,  tlie  old  lad}'  was 
gently  stroking  the  hair  of  lleva,  who  sat  on  a  tabouret 
by  her  side. 

"  It  seems  but  j-esterday,"  she  went  on  saying,  after 
the  first  salutations  had  passed,  "  since  your  father  — 
j'ou  are  very  like  him,  but  handsomer  —  came  to  this 
house  to  take  away  our  Osna.  She  was  my  yomigest 
grandchild,  and  had  always  said  she  was  going  to  stay 
with  grandma  all  her  life.  But  there  comes  a  stranger, 
and  grandma  is  forgotten.  That  is  as  it  should  be, 
children ;  nor  would  your  elders,  however  loath  to  part 
with  3-ou,  have  it  otherwise.  Here,  now,  is  little  Reva 
comes  with  her  pretty  hair  tied  up,"  —  at  these  words 
Reva  flushed,  but  made  no  protest,  —  "my  child,  I  have 
pulled  down  your  hair :  let  me  tie  it  up." 

"No,"  said  Reva,  giving  her  head  a  vigorous  shake, 
so  that  the  rich  masses  of  hair  fell  behhid  her;  "let  it 
remain  so  meantime  ;  it  is  much  more  comfortable." 

The  old  lady  gave  her  a  searching  look.  She  said 
nothing  further  on  the  subject,  but,  rising  briskly  from 
her  chair,  invited  us  into  the  garden  to  see  the  flowers 
and  fruit.  Here  most  of  the  company  soon  after  took 
their  leave.  But  lalma,  remembering  something  said  by 
me  on  our  wa}-  there,  told  our  hostess  that  I  would  like 
to  see  her  collection  of  portraits.  While,  under  the  old 
lady's  direction,  I  was  employed  in  arranging  the  appa- 
ratus, Reva  had  a  hurried  conference  with  lalma.  The 
latter  upon  her  entrance  took  me  aside  to  inform  me  that 
Reva  li^d  begged  Anvar  to  let  her  ride  home  with  lalma. 


ANVAR'S  FAILURE.  211 

*' I  have  come  to  beg  the  use  of  your  curricle,"  she 
continued.  "  You  can  return  with  Auvar.  You  seem 
Wonderfully  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  other  company 
than  mine.     Yet  I  did  my  best  to  entertain  you." 

Accompanying  these  words  with  an  arch  smile,  she 
returned  to  Reva,  who  was  explaining  to  the  old  lady 
that  she  had  no  intention  of  binding  up  her  hair,  as  she 
was  about  to  return  with  lalma. 

The  first  portraits  shown  in  the  apparatus  aroused  in 
me  but  a  faint  interest.  My  mind  was  inclined  to  revert 
to  a  subject  having  no  immediate  connection  with  them. 
But  at  last  my  indifference  was  thoroughly  dispelled. 

"Good  heavens!"  I  exclaimed,  with  a  start,  as  I 
looked  in  startled  surprise  at  the  portrait  that  had  just 
made  its  appearance.  It  seemed  to  live  and  move,  even 
to  smile  from  the  window-like  aperture  where  it  presented 
itself. 

"What  was  that  you  said?"  inquired  our  hostess. 
"  It  sounded  strange." 

How  the  above  exclamation  had  escaped  from  me,  I 
cannot  explain  except  by  the  general  tendency  to  revert, 
wlien  under  the  influence  of  strong  excitement,  to  the 
tongue  first  used  in  cliildhood.  I  explained,  somewliat 
confusedly,  that  I  had  been  startled  by  the  lifelike  fidelity 
of  the  portrait.  It  was  indeed  that  of  my  own  mother, 
changed,  it  is  true,  somewhat  as  I  mj'self  was  changed, 
and  wearing  the  costume  of  the  period.  Yet  the  change 
was  not  much  greater  than  that  sometimes  seen  in  a  per- 
son from  one  day  to  another.  We  all  liave  our  good  days, 
on  which  we  look  and  speak  our  best.  On  such  a  day 
might  this  portrait  of  my  mother  have  been 'taken. 


212  THE  DIOTIIAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AUEAD. 

I  was,  however,  relieved  as  well  as  startled.  Those 
words  spoken  so  lightly  by  Reva  iu  regard  to  the  expected 
arrival  of  my  mother  and  sister,  or,  rather,  as  I  thought 
to  myself  with  dismay,  the  mother  and  sister  of  Ismar 
Thiusen,  had  given  me  the  feeling  of  an  impostor  on  the 
eve  of  exposure.  Yet  I  could  see  no  way  of  retreat  from 
my  strange  position.  With  a  sort  of  fatalistic  reckless- 
ness I  had  resolved  to  abide  the  issue  of  events,  with 
much  the  same  confidence  that  all  would  turn  out  right  iu 
the  end  that  we  feel  in  regard  to  the  hero  or  heroine  of 
a  story,  however  inextricable,  to  all  appearance,  the  diffi- 
culties in  which  he  or  she  may  be  involved. 

Here,  then,  was  the  unlooked-for  solution.  This  de- 
voted and  beloved  mother  would,  perhaps,  give  me  the 
clew  to  the  issue  from  this  laliyrinth.  But  what  if  she 
and  my  sister  should  take  the  same  view  of  things  as  Litis. 
Would  I  be  obliged,  for  the  sake  of  her  peace  of  mind, 
to  pretend  a  belief  in  what  my  entire  memory  of  the  past 
forbade  me  to  believe  ?  All  this  passed  through  my  mind 
as  in  a  flash.  Seeing  no  solution  to  the  new  and  difficult 
questions  now  presenting  themselves,  I  tried  to  dismiss 
the  subject  by  asking  to  see  the  portrait  of  my  sister 
Maud. 

This,  too,  was  of  startling  fidelity ;  though  I  have  no 
doubt  that  Maud  herself,  dear  girl,  would  acknowledge 
that  in  no  other  had  she  been  represented  to  better  advan- 
tage. With  a  lingering  trace  of  incredulity,  I  examined 
the  backs  of  the  pictures.  I  found  the  names  Osna  Dio- 
tha  and  INIadene  Diotha,  written  there  apparently  by  the 
hand  of  the  artist,  evidently  a  lady.  The  printed  address 
was  a  street  of  a,  to  me  unknown,  city  situated  some- 


ANVAR'S   FAILURE.  ,         213 

where  on  the  northern  coast  of  Alume,  the  lesser  of  the 
great  islands  of  the  Maorian  group. 

After  some  further  conversation  we  took  our  leave. 
Anvar  and  I  saw  the  ladies  seated  in  the  curricle  I  had 
brought  to  the  door,  and  started  after  they  were  out  of 
sight. 

I  must  do  my  companion  the  justice  to  say  that  he  took 
his  punishment  nobly.  That  he  was  very  hard  hit  I  could 
infer  from  various  circumstances.  But  by  not  a  word 
did  he  betray  the  fact  that  he  had  just  met  with  a  disap- 
pointment likely  to  color  many  years,  if  not  the  whole,  of 
his  life.  He  proved,  on  the  contrary,  a  most  interesting 
companion  ;  and  the  hour  or  so  of  our  return  ride  passed 
pleasantl}^  enough  in  varied  converse,  though  neither 
alluded  to  the  subject  that  most  occupied  the  minds  of 
both. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE   CANADA   THISTLE. 


Utis  and  I  had  scarcely  descended  to  the  workshop 
next  morning,  when  a  call  was  heard  at  the  telephone. 
It  was  Ilulmar,  inquhing  whether  I  could  call  on  him  some 
time  that  day. 

"  I  felt  sure,"  said  Utis,  smiling,  "  that  my  old  friend 
would  not  rest  till  he  had  extracted  from  you  all  you  can 
tell  on  the  subject  of  ancient  mathematics.  It  was  only 
regard  for  the  day  and  place  kept  him  from  entering  on 
the  topic  then  and  there.  I  sincerely  hope  you  will  be 
able  to  gratify  him.  It  is  only  when  immersed  in  his 
favorite  pursuits  that  he  seems  to  find  forgetfulness,  and 
a  certain  degree  of  happiness." 

My  host  sighed  as  he  uttered  these  words,  and  became 
absorbed  for  a  while  in  a  seemingl}'  painful  rever}'.  Per- 
haps he  was  thinking  of  the  possibility  that  he,  too,  might 
have  to  face  within  a  few  months.  WhatCA'er  it  might 
be,  he  shook  it  off,  before  long,  by  a  vigorous  effort  of 
the  will. 

One  of  the  things  I  most  admired  in  the  moral  training- 
of  these  peo^Je  was,  their  careful  cultivation  of  the  power 
of  putting  aside  uunccessar}'  anxieties.     To  a  mind  prop- 
214 


THE   CANADA   THISTLE.  215 

erly  trained,  they  contended,  brief  reflection  is  sufficient 
for  resolving  on  a  line  of  action.  Tliat  once  decided  on, 
all  brooding  over  a  fnture  contingency  is  to  be  resolntely 
put  aside  equally  with  all  unavailing  regret  in  regard  to 
the  irrevocable  past.  Cheerfulness  of  mind,  and  health 
of  body,  were  virtues  to  be  cultivated  as  essential  to  the 
happiness  of  the  individual  and  the  comfort  of  those 
around  him.  It  was  difficult  for  me  to  detei'mine  whether 
the  uniform  serenity  of  manner  so  observable  in  all  was 
more  the  result  of  general  good  health  and  a  well-balanced 
physical  constitution,  or  if  the  latter  was  not  rather  due 
to  the  former. 

lalma  heard  of  my  intention  of  setting  out  after  break- 
fast with  a  demure  smile,  but  made  no  observation.  To 
the  rest,  my  proceeding  seemed  quite  natural ;  for,  accord- 
ing to  the  prevailing  social  etiquette,  a  r^uest  from  an 
elder  to  a  man  considerably  younger  was  looked  upon  as 
something  not  to  be  lightly  disregarded.  Those  days 
were  long  past  when  it  was  possible  for  the  young  to  be 
more  highly  informed  than  their  elders.  Age  and  expe- 
rience, accordingly,  had  resumed  their  natural  position  of 
superiority  in  respect  to  youthful  inexperience. 

In  a  conversation  that  occurred  some  time  subsequent 
to  that  now  referred  to,  I  experienced  considerable  diffi- 
culty in  explaining  the  possibility  of  a  condition  of  society 
in  which  age  was  flouted  at,  and  regarded  ns  a  disqualifi- 
cation, even  for  those  duties  in  which  cool-headed  expe- 
rience is  pre-eminently  desirable ;  and  how  it  came  about 
that  what  was,  perhaps  sarcastically,  called  "  society," 
was  ruled  by  those  least  qualified  to  do  so,  either  by  sense 
or  experience. 


21G  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

Just  before  I  started,  Utis  produced  a  book,  from  wliicli 
he  tore  oue  of  the  printed  forms  it  coutaiued.  This  I 
fouud  to  be  a  diagram  of  the  roads  aud  cross-roads  of  the 
district,  each  being  numbered,  or  otherwise  distinguished 
with  as  much  system  as  the  streets  of  a  city.  I  had,  after 
this,  frequent  occasion  to  appreciate  the  enormous  con- 
venience of  these  diagrams.  By  means  of  oue  of  tlie 
ingenious  ink-pencils  then  in  use,  Utis  lined  out  my  road, 
and,  after  explaining  the  signs  by  which  I  should  recog- 
nize the  turnings,  placed  the  diagram  in  a  clip  so  arranged 
as  to  hold  it  in  a  position  convenient  for  reference. 

A  ride  of  about  ten  miles,  accomplished  in  a  little  more 
than  half  an  hour,  brought  me  to  ni}'  destination.  At 
that  hour  I  had  the  roads  almost  to  myself  ;  most  people 
being  engaged  in  listening  to  the  after-breakfast  concert, 
the  one  grcat^sthetic  enjoyment  of  the  da}'. 

Hulmar  I  found  sitting  on  the  veranda,  amid  a  group 
of  neighbors.  The  sound  of  music  from  within  showed 
that  I  had  arrived  in  time  for  the  latter  part  Qf  the  per- 
formance, in  which  I,  too,  soon  became  so  absorbed  as  to 
become  forgetful  for  a  time,  both  of  the  place  and  of  the 
occasion  of  my  coming. 

After  the  music  had  ceased  in  oue  triumphant  burst  of 
melody  that  long  lingered  on  my  ear,  the  visitoi's  soon 
took  their  leave.  They  were  neighbors  from  the  next 
house,  whose  apparatus  had  happened  to  be  out  of  order 
that  morning.  From  some  words  that  fell  from  them,  I 
understood  that  Revn,  whom  I  did  not  see,  had  set  out 
immediately  after  breakfast  for  her  post  of  duty,  it  being 
her  turn  for  dut}*  that  week. 

My  host,  evidently  gratified  by  my  promptitude  in  ac- 


THE   CANADA    TniSTLE.  217 

ceding  to  his  request,  first  fulfilled  his  duties  as  host  by 
leading  me  round  the  garden. 

"This  fountain,"  said  he,  pointing  to  what  appeared  a 
cloud  of  rainbow-colored  mist  in  the  midst  of  the  gar- 
den, "is  of  Reva's  contrivance."  While  saying  this,  he 
pressed  on  what  seemed  to  be  a  piece  of  rock  •,  and  the 
spray  subsided  at  once,  permitting  approach  to  the  basin. 
This  was  enclosed  in  rockwork  abounding  in  ferns  and 
other  moisture-loving  plants.  A  number  of  fish  of  vari- 
ous colors  came  swarming  to  the  edge  of  their  abode, 
accustomed,  evidently,  to  be  fed. 

"These  and  her  fowls  are  Reva's  live  pets,"  said  he. 
"But  probably  she  loves  her  flowers  still  more.  Over 
here,  however,  is  the  pride  of  her  garden,  a  unique  plant, 
to  which  none  of  even  our  experienced  botanists  has  been 
able  to  give  a  name." 

Here  we  came  to  a  standstill  before  —  I  hesitate  to  tell 
it  —  a  not  exceedingly  large,  3^et  thriving  specimen  of 
Cardnus  Arvensis,  or  Canada  Thistle.  The  panicles  of 
buds,  already  showing  purplish  at  the  tips,  gave  promise 
of  a  numerous  progeny  of  this  farmer's  pest,  to  which 
they  have  given  the  significant  epithet  of  "  cursed." 

"  Is  this  the  plant  you  mean?  "  I  inquired,  hardly  able 
to  believe  my  eyes. 

"  You  seem  to  recognize  it.     Yes,  this  is  the  plant." 

"It  is  merely  a  " —  Here  I  was  nonplussed,  for  I 
was  unable  to  recall  any  name  for  it  in  the  language  of 
the  period.  "It  is  merely  a  weed,  at  one  time  greatly 
detested,  and  far  from  uncommon." 

"  In  Maoria,  you  mean.  It  seems  to  be  utterly  un- 
known on  this  continent." 


218  TUE  DIOTITAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

"  It  was  known  only  too  well  in  these  regions  at  one 
time,"  was  my  reply.  1  then  proceeded  to  give  some 
account  of  its  nature,  warning  him  of  the  diliicult}'  of 
extirpating  it  if  once  it  gained  a  footing. 

"  It  would  not  have  much  chance  against  our  present 
methods  of  cultivation,"  said  Ilulmar,  who  had  listened 
with  deep  interest  to  what  I  said.  "  It  will  be  as  well, 
however,  to  take  measures  of  precaution." 

As  we  walked  toward  the  house,  he  told  how  Reva,  to 
whom  all  the  native  plants  were  known,  had  remarked  the 
strange  plant  growing  in  a  corner  of  the  garden.  The 
.only  probable  explanation  he  could  frame  to  account  for 
its  presence  there  was  this.  The  year  before,  a  glass  ves- 
sel that  seemed  to  contain  coin,  or  similar  ol)jects,  had 
been  brought  for  his  inspection.  In  the  vessel,  which 
they  were  obliged  to  saw  in  two  in  order  to  get  at  the 
coins,  was  a  quantity  of  decayed  vegetable  matter,  which 
was  thrown  into  that  corner  of  the  garden. 

On  reaching  the  library,  he  showed  me  one  of  the  coins, 
the  date  of  which,  as  well  as  I  could  make  it  out,  was 
A.D.  2758.  A  talk  on  the  gradual  change  that  had  super- 
vened in  the  forms  of  the  numerical  characters  naturally 
led  to  tlie  subject  of  early  mathematics. 

On  that  subject  I  happened  to  be  fairly  informed.  I 
had  once  accepted  the  task  of  writing  a  review  of  a  Ger- 
man history  of  mathematics.  AVith  the  aid  of  "  Montu- 
cla,"  and  similar  works,  I  succeeded  in  producing  what 
m}'  sister  Maud  regarded  as  the  most  brilliant  of  modern 
essaj's.  For  in  it  I  had  succeeded  in  contrasting  my  own 
exceeding  knowledge  of  the  subject  with  the  Teuton's 
deplorable  ignorance  of  what  he  had  studied  onl}'  as  many 


THE   CANADA    THISTLE.  219 

years,  probably,  as  I  had  days.  Yet  I  had  been  consci- 
entious compared  with  some  reviewers.  I  had  really  en- 
deavored to  acquire  some  slight  knowledge  of  my  subject ; 
for  this  I  now  reaped  the  reward.  Hulmar,  full  of  delight 
at  being  able  to  obtain  information  on  just  those  poiuts 
hitherto  most  obscure  to  him,  put  question  upon  ques- 
tion. Imagine  Mommsen  enabled  to  interrogate  a  witness 
of  the  period  of  the  Scipios  upon  the  many  points  that 
prove  insoluble  problems  to  even  his  industry  and  critical 
acumen. 

Ilulmar's  satisfaction  was  all  the  greater  because  my 
replies  often  confirmed  his  own  shrewd  surmises.  On 
some  points  he  showed  a  knowledge  wonderful  in  its  accu- 
racy,—so  accurate,  indeed,  that,  when  questioned  on  those 
points,  I  was  obliged  to  say  that  I  could  not  answer  more 
exactly  without  access  to  certain  books.  Now,  the  great 
difficulty  in  the  investigation  of  that  period  had  been,  not 
the  absence  of  records,  .but  their  bewildering  profusion, 
and  the  fact  that  they  were  expressed  in  almost  unknown 
languages. 

At  once  he  produced  a  catalogue  in  several  large  vol- 
umes. One  of  these  contained  the  list  of  the  works  of 
reference  in  the  ancient  languages  — which  iucluded,  it 
must  be  remembered,  what  are  now  called  the  modern 
languages  — contained  in  the  State  library  in  Albany. 
On  looking  over  this,  I  was  able  to  pick  out  a  number  of 
works  I  would  like  to  consult,  and  expressed  my  readiness 
to  proceed  at  once  to  Albany. 

"  There  is,  of  course,  no  need  of  that,"  said  he,  seem- 
ingly as  much  surprised  at  the  idea  of  there  being  any 
necessity  of  going  to  a  library,  when  knowing  the  names 


220  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,   A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

of  tlie  books  wanted,  as  wo  should  be  at  the  notion  of 
going  to  a  bookseller's  to  read  his  books. 

This  is  how  the  matter  was  arranged.  Tlirough  the 
telephone  he  began  a  conversation  with  the  custodian  of 
the  proper  department  of  the  library,  gave  the  numbers 
of  the  books,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  have  them  for- 
warded at  once. 

"  They  ought  to  be  here  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon," 
said  he  ;  and  we  resumed  the  discussion  interrupted  by 
the  question  of  books.  So  interested  were  we  both  in  the 
subject,  that  our  first  intimation  of  the  rapid  flight  of  time 
■was  the  appearance  of  Reva.  She  had  meantime  returned, 
and  now  came  to  seek  her  father  for  the  mid-day  meal, 
which  he  loved  to  partake  of  in  her  society. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 


ISM.UI    AND    REVA. 


Knowing  nothing  of  the  invitation  on  the  part  of  her 
father,  she  was  probabl}',  tliougli  showing  no  sign  of  it, 
greatly  snrprised  to  see  with  whom  her  father  was  con- 
versing with  such  unwonted  animation. 

There  was  at  first,  or  I  imagined  tliere  was,  tlie  sliglit- 
est  touch  of  restraint  in  her  manner.  Her  proud  spirit 
still  chafed  at  the  recollection  of  the  bondage  to  which 
her  never-before-confined  tresses  had  been  subjected. 
This,  however,  soon  vanished  before  the  influence  of  her 
naturally  sunny  disposition,  and  her  gratitude  for  the 
pleasure  I  seemed  to  have  procured  for  her  father.  Noth- 
ing, indeed,  could  have  proved  a  surer  passport  to  her 
favor. 

"When  Hulmar  revealed  to  her  his  newly  discovered 
mine  of  information,  Reva  entered  with  enthusiasm  into 
his  hopes  and  plans  for  the  completion  of  the  long-de- 
layed work.  Her  remarks  on  the  necessity  of  rewriting 
the  whole  of  the  first  volume  showed  a  surprising  famili- 
arity with  a  subject  not  regarded  among  us  as  especially 
attractive  to  the  feminine  mind.  It  must  be  rememl)ered, 
however,  that  much  now  regarded  as  recondite  in  science 

221 


222  THE   DIOTTIAS,    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

luul,  reduced  to  simple  priuciples,  become  part  of  elemen- 
tary education. 

'•But  you,  lieva,  are  not  so  lucky  to-day  as  I  have 
been." 

"In  what  way?"  inquired  she,  evidently  puzzled  as 
to  what  was  referred  to,  but  seeing  that  her  father  was 
inclined  to  tease,  a  somewhat  unusual  thing  with  him,  and 
a  sure  sign  that  he  was  in  the  best  of  spirits. 

"You  must  know,"  said  he,  addressing  me,  "  that  this 
good  daughter  of  mine  is  aml)itious.  She  has  been  in- 
dulging lately  in  wild  dreams  of  future  fame.  Her  name 
was  to  descend  to  the  latest  posterity  linked  with  the  dis- 
covery of  the  8omething-or-other  Diothensis." 

"Oh,  my  poor  plant!  "  exclaimed  Reva,  half  amused, 
half  dismayed.     "  AVhat  has  happened?  " 

"Your  pet  is  safe,"  said  Ilulmar,  as  we  rose  from 
table.  "  But  it  proves  to  be  a  most  nndesirable  vehicle 
to  posthumous  fame.  Your  cousin,  here,  can  tell  you 
what  your  uncle  Asian  could  not."  This  uncle,  it  must 
be  mentioned,  was  an  authority  on  botany. 

"He  knows  my  new  plant?"  said  Reva  vnth  spar- 
kling eyes. 

"  It  turns  out  to  be  a  very  old  and  a  very  mischievous 
one,"  replied  her  father. 

By  the  time  he  had  repeated  to  her  what  I  had  told 
about  the  plant,  we  were  all  standing  before  it. 

"  It  is  so  beautiful,"  said  Reva,  regarding  it  somewhat 
ruefully.     "  Yet  it  must  be  destroyed,  I  suppose." 

Since  Reva  said  it  was  beautiful,  I  began  to  think  so 
too  ;  because  she  showed  an  interest  in  it,  I  forthwith  be- 
came earnest  to  save  the  existence  of  what  I  had  hith- 


TS.UAR   AND   REV  A.  223 

erto  regarded  as  simply  a  detestable  weed.  I  proposed, 
accordingl}',  that  it  should  be  potted  in  a  tub  of  suflficieut 
size,  taking  care  to  remove  from  the  ground  every  frag- 
ment of  the  root.  Then,  b}'  taking  care  to  snip  off  the 
flowers  before  ripening,  the  plant  might  be  preserved  as 
a  unique  specimen  of  an  apparently  extinct  species. 

The  proi)osal  was  carried  by  acclamation.  When  I  re- 
turned from  tlie  out-house  with  the  large  ucdin  tub  that 
Eeva  pointed  out  to  me,  Hulmar  had  the  plant  already  so 
loosened  that  we  could  transfer  it  at  once  to  the  tub. 
We  had  just  carried  this  under  the  shade  of  a  spreading 
beech  when  a  visitor  was  seen  approaching  the  house ; 
and  Ilulmar  was  obliged  to  leave  the  completion  of  the 
task  to  me,  under  the  superintendence  of  Eeva. 

While  thus  engaged,  an  idea  occurred  to  me  that  took 
Reva's  fancy  too.  I  knew  that  before  long  it  would  be 
her  turn  to  give  a  lecture  in  the  village  institute.  Why 
not  select  for  theme  this  strange  regressor  from  a  distant 
past?  The  plant  itself  would  attract  attention  by  its 
peculiar  and  unknown  aspect.  In  addition  to  its  botani- 
cal and  scientitic  aspects,  the  subject  admitted  of  many 
interesting  historical  details  being  introduced,  —  its  former 
prevalence,  its  extirpation,  the  story  of  the  probable  ori- 
gin of  this  one  specimen. 

Seated  on  the  rustic  seat  encircling  the  lower  trunk  of 
the  beech,  Reva  listened  attentively.  Kncouraged  by  the 
silent  approval  of  my  fair  auditor,  I  poured  fortli  a 
stream  of  anecdote  more  or  less  connected  with  the  this- 
tle, from  its  preservation  of  the  Scottish  host  at  Largs  to 
the  character  of  the  jjeople  who  adopted  it  as  a  nationij 
emblem. 


224  THE  DIOTIIAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

' '  How  do  you  come  to  kuow  all  these  interesting 
things?  "  inquired  Reva  during  a  pause  in  my  eloquence. 

'■'-  From  old  books,"  was  my  reply.  ''  I  hope  to  be  able 
to  show  you  a  representation  of  this  plant  in  one  of  the 
books  expected  to-day." 

''In  what  language  is  the  book?"  she  inquired. 

"In  the  English  of  the  nineteenth  century." 

"  I  have  read  that  many  languages  were  in  use  at  that 
time.  Do  you  know  any  other  beside  that  you  men- 
tioned ? ' ' 

"  More  or  less  of  four  others,  though  none  so  well  as 
that." 

"  What  languages  were  those?  " 

"Greek,  Latin,  German,  and  French." 

"  I  have  some  idea  of  the  peoples  by  whom  they  were 
spoken.  It  must  have  taken  you  a  long  time  to  learn  so 
many  different  ways  of  expressing  the  same  thought. 
Yet  it  must  be  something  to  possess  the  power  of  reading 
the  very  words  that  moved  the  minds  of  men  in  those  far- 
off  times.  It  must  make  you  feel  sometimes  as  if  you 
had  known  them  personally,  and  had  heard  them  speak. 
You  must  be  able  to  sympathize  with  their  hopes  and 
fears  and  strivings,  in  a  way  impossible  for  others. 

"  Yes,  it  is  so  difficult  to  realize,  that,  so  man}-  centuries 
ago,  the  sun  was  shining  just  as  it  does  now  upon  this 
fair  earth,  that  other  eyes  then  looked  on  grass  and  flow- 
ers and  branches  waving  in  the  summer  wind,  and,  as 
they  saw  the  sun  verging  to  those  familiar  hills,  thought 
and  i)lanned  for  the  to-morrow  that  was  to  come  and  to 
pass  away  like  millions  upon  millions  since," 

As  she  spoke  she  had  risen  from  her  seat,  and  stood 


ISMAR  AND   REVA.  225 

looking  toward  where  the  distant  hills  shut  in  the  horizon. 
As,  resting  on  one  knee  beside  the  flower-tub  I  was  still 
engaged  in  filling,  I  looked  up  toward  her,  the  very  incar- 
nation of  youth  and  loveliness  and  noble  thought,  there 
came  to  me  one  of  those  moments  that  come  to  all,  —  one 
of  those  moments  when,  with  shuddering  awe,  we  recog- 
nize for  once  what  we  really  are,  mere  drops  of  spray 
tossed  up  from  the  abjss  of  eternity,  and  poised  for  an 
^instant  ere  redesceuding  to  the  mysterious  source  from 
which  we  sprung.  For  her,  too,  and  for  me,  would  come 
the  day  when  other  thoughtful  eyes,  gazing  on  tlie  fair 
world  illumined  by  that  self-same  sun,  would  endeavor  to 
realize  that  that  sun  had  once  shone  for  others  once  as 
young  and  hopeful  as  themselves. 

Some  such  expression  she  must  have  read  in  my  eyes  as 
she  turned  toward  me. 

"  My  father  says  that  I  am  too  much  given  to  pursue 
such  fancies,"  she  said  with  a  slight  laugh.  "  He  warns 
me,  that,  unless  I  take  care,  I  shall  find  myself  some  day 
writing  verse." 

It  may  here  be  remarked,  that  not  only  was  verse-mak- 
ing regarded  as  a  very  poor  employment  of  time,  but  the 
poetic  temperament  itself,  as  experience  had  shown,  was 
far  from  conducive  to  happiness  in  its  possessor.  Hul- 
mar  himself  possessed  it  in  no  slight  degree,  but  had 
counteracted  its  influence  largely  by  assiduous  application 
to  the  most  abstruse  studies. 

The  slight  estimation  in  which  the  versifier  was  held 
at  this  period  arose  from  no  lack  of  appreciation  of  the 
truly  poetic,  but  from  the  despair  of  attnining  any  result 
worthy  of   comparison    with  the   best   eft'orts   of   earlier 


226  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

periods.  The  difficulty  had  l)ecome  ever  greater  of  dis- 
coursing with  any  freshness  of  utterance  or  originality 
of  thought  upon  the  themes  that  had  exercised  the  highest 
skill  of  so  many  hundreds  of  generations. 

It  is  with  the  first  development  of  a  literature  as  with 
the  opening  of  a  new  country.  The  earliest  cultivators 
draw  with  ease  rich  harvests  from  the  virgin  soil,  from 
which  succeeding  generations  find  increasing  difficulty  la 
obtaining  an  adequate  reward  for  their  toil.  For  the  first 
comers  are  the  great  nuggets,  and  the  rich  surface  placers, 
tlie  primeval  forests,  and  the  abundant  game.  Yet  in 
this  period,  though  little  poetry  was  written,  there  was 
much  enjoyed  ;  just  as  there  was  much  religion  in  life, 
though  theology  was  almost  as  extinct  as  a  department 
of  literary  activity. 

Finding  lleva  was  about  to  gather  the  fruit  for  the 
evening  meal,  I  naturally  volunteered  m}'  aid.  Even  in 
so  small  a  matter  as  the  cultivation  of  small  fruits,  I 
found  much  to  remark  and  to  admire.  This  may  be 
understood  when  I  state,  that,  by  the  methods  in  use, 
strawberries  —  and  what  strawberries  !  Even  the  amiable 
and  enthusiastic  author  of  "Small  Fruits"  would  have 
been  filled  with  amazement  to  see  what  had  been  accom- 
plished in  the  improvement  of  his  favorite  fruit,  —  im- 
provements in  flavor  and  size  beyond  his  wildest  dreams,  — 
by  the  methods  in  use,  I  repeat,  strawberries  had  come 
to  be  in  season  for  six  months  in  the  open  air,  INIay  and 
October  both  inclusive.  For  other  fruits,  there  were 
correspondingly  extended  seasons. 

The  selection  and  gathering  of  the  strawberries,  at 
present  so  disagreeable  a  task,  were  greatly  facilitated  by 


TSMAR   AND   REVA.  227 

the  manner  of  their  cultivation.  The  plants  grew,  not  on 
the  level  ground,  but  on  ridges  of  aljout  four  feet  in 
height,  and  sloping  each  way  at  an  angle  of  sixty  degrees. 
By  this  means,  not  only  was  a  greater  surface  obtained, 
but  also,  by  varying  the  direction  of  the  ridges,  the  differ- 
ent varieties  could  be  suited  with  almost  any  amount  of 
exposure  to,  or  aversion  from,  the  beams  of  the  morning 
and  mid-day  sun.  We  gathered  also  a  small  dish  of  cher- 
ries, more  for  their  beauty  than  from  any  notion  of  their 
ability  to  cope  in  flavor  with  the  other  fruit  we  had  gath- 
ered. These  cherries,  I  may  remark,  grew  on  dwarf-trees, 
or,  rather,  bushes,  not  more  than  six  feet  in  height. 

We  were  returning  to  the  house,  when  Hulmar  met  us 
with  the  intelligence  that  his  visitor  had  departed,  and 
that  he  had  just  heard  through  the  telephone  that  the 
books  ordered  a  few  hours  before  were  alread}-  on  their 
way  from  the  railway  station. 

Nor  was  it  long  until  the  wagon  came  in  sight.  The 
books,  contained  in  several  cases,  were  soon  deposited  ou 
the  floor  of  the  veranda.  With  eas}'^  good-breeding,  the 
zerdaryvho  had  brought  them  acceded  to  Hulmar's  invita- 
tion to  rest  for  a  while  under  the  shade.  While  admiring 
the  basket  of  fruit,  which  Reva  placed  at  his  disposal, 
and  eating  a  few  of  the  cherries,  he  amused  us  with  an 
account  of  the  ingenious  expedients  to  which  they  were 
obliged  to  resort  at  home  in  order  to  raise  such  fruits  as 
these,  and  told  of  the  excellence  of  their  mangoes. 

His  native  place,  it  appeared,  was  in  the  neighborhood 
of  where  Timbuctoo  now  stands.  In  complexion  and 
build  I  should  have  taken  him  for  a  Spaniard.  Hulmar 
was  able  to  inform  me  afterwards,  that,  from  his  name, 


228  THE    DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

he  must  be,  partly  at  least,  of  Moorish  descent.  In  man- 
ner, liowever,  and  training,  he  did  not  differ  from  the  other 
zerdars  I  had  met. 

When  we  had  arranged  the  books  in  the  stud}',  Hulmar 
read  to  us  —  that  is,  Reva  and  me  —  the  uotie  from  the 
librarian,  which  had  come  with  the  books.  In  tlie  course 
of  this  note  the  librarian  mentioned  the  fact,  that  few  of 
the  books  included  in  the  list  had,  according  to  the 
records,  been  asked  after  during  many  centuries.  One, 
a  copy  of  "Webster's  Unabridged,"  had  not  been  out 
since  A.D.  6943. 

To  Reva  this  last  work  became  at  once  an  object  of 
great  interest,  especially  after  I  had  pointed  out  to  her 
the  woodcut  representing  the  thistle,  whicli  she  recognized 
at  once.  While  I  was  occupied  with  Hulmar  in  mapping 
out  our  future  work  by  a  cursor}'  examination  of  the 
books,  slie  was  engaged  in  examining  the  woodcuts  in 
the  dictionary.  The  cuts  themselves  were  to  her  objects 
of  interest.  Compared  with  the  photographic  illustrations 
m  the  books  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed,  tlie}'  had 
the  like  merits  and  defects  with  the  old  manuscripts  as 
compared  with  the  finest  specimens  of  the  printer's  art. 

Meantime  the  afternoon  was  passing  away,  till  Hul- 
mar, becoming  aware  of  the  near  approach  of  the  dinner- 
hour,  rose,  saj'ing,  — 

"That  is  surely  enough  for  one  day.  You  will,  of 
course,  dine  with  us.  There  will  be  no  difficulty  as  re- 
gards costume.  You  are  just  the  make  of  Olav  a  few 
years  back.     As  for  dinner,  that  is  Reva's  affair." 

"  There  is  just  time,"  said  Reva,  and  hastened  to  the 
telephone  to  give  the  necessary  directions. 


ISMAR  AND  REV  A.  229 

"  I  have  informed  Ulmene  of  yowx  intended  absence," 
she  said  a  few  moments  hiter.  "  She  proposes  that  Utis 
come  hiter  in  the  evening  to  pilot  you  home,  as  the  moon 
rises  late." 


chapti:r  XXVII. 

MUSIC. 

When  we  found  ourselves  after  dinner  in  the  parlor, 
Hulinar  offered  me  my  choice  between  some  concert-nuisic, 
—  a  great  performance  was  going  on,  it  appears,  in  some 
distant  city,  —  or  to  hear  a  song  from  Reva.  I  had  more 
tlian  once  heard  her  voice  praised,  but  had  not,  as  yet, 
found  an  opportunity  of  hearing  it. 

Slie  sat  down  to  an  instrument  constructed  on  tlie  same 
principle  as  that  of  Ulmene,  but  differently  arranged.  In 
this,  —  the  instrument  chiefly  used  by  those  who  mainly 
desired  it  as  an  accom})animent  to  the  voice, — the  keys 
were  somewhat  smaller  in  diameter  than  those  of  a  con- 
certina, and  were  slightly  hollowed  at  the  top. 

These  keys  were  arranged  in  groups  of  seven.  Close 
around  a  central  key,  that  which  gave  the  simple  note, 
were  six  others,  not  giving  single  notes,  but  the  six  most 
usu;d  chords  to  tliat  central  note.  Tlie  key-board  was 
arranged  for  several  octaves  of  the  chromatic  scale,  each 
note  being  tuned  true.  A  simple  adjustment  enabled 
the  pla^-er,  before  beginning,  to  set  the  instrument  to  any 
desired  tone  as  key-note. 

By  means  of  a  sort  of  pointed  thimble  worn  on  the 
230 


MUSIC.  231 

forcfiuger,  the  plaj^er  produced  the  desh'cd  note  or  chord 
by  the  slightest  pressure  into  the  cup-shaped  ke}',  while 
the  strength  of  the  tone  was  regulated  by  a  lever  under 
the.  control  of  the  left  hand.  The  use  of  this  instrument 
was  so  simple,  that  any  person  with  an  ear  could  learn  to 
play  a  melody  with  accompaniment  much  more  easily  than 
DOW  to  pick  out  the  same  tune  on  a  piano. 

AVhat  man}'  will  regard  as  the  chief  excellence  of  this 
instrument  was  the  fact,  that  it  could,  if  desii-ed,  be  played 
so  softly  that  a  person  a  few  yards  off  might  be  unaware 
that  the  instrument  was  in  action.  Little  Esna  had  such 
an  instrument  at  home.  Happening  to  enter  the  room 
where  she  was  practising,  I  was  unaware,  till  I  came 
close  to  her,  that  she  was  playing. 

AVith  a  few  directions  from  Esna,  I  speedily  mastered 
the  principle  of  the  instrument.  An  hour's  practice 
enabled  me  to  astonish  lalnia,  when  she  came  in,  by  [)la3-- 
ing  over  to  her  some  fragments  of  nnisic  in  a  style  utterly 
strange  to  her  ear.  She  called  in  Ulmene,  who  also  be- 
came highly  interested  on  hearing  those  snatches  of  long- 
forgotten  melod}'. 

Reva  had  probaljly  lieard  from  lalma  of  these  perform- 
ances of  mine  ;  for,  when  she  had  given  us  several  of  her 
father's  favorite  songs,  she  wished  to  hear  from  me  some 
of  the  ancient  music,  as  she  called  it.  As  her  father 
joined  earnestly  in  the  request,  I  had  no  alternative  but 
to  compl}'.  I  did  so  on  condition,  however,  that  Reva 
should  play  the  accompaniment.  This  she  was  readily 
able  to  do  after  hearing  me  play  over  the  melody. 

Warned  by  my  experience  with  lalma  and  Ulmene,  I 
attempted  nothing  ambitious.     It  had  been  the  simplest 


232  THE   DIOTJIAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

melodies  that  had  pleased  the  most,  such'  as  "  John 
Anderson,"  and  "  Logie  o'  Buchan,"  among  Scotch  airs, 
"  Der  Wirthin  Tocliterleiu,"  and  "  Steh'  ieh  in  finster 
Witternacht,"  among  the  German.  First,  accompanied 
by  Reva,  I  gave  the  song  in  the  original  words,  tlieu 
rendered  it  into  the  prevailing  language.  This  latter  task 
was  comparatively  easy,  on  account  of  the  great  abun- 
dance of  sonorous  monosyllables.  I  certainly  had  no 
reason  to  complain  of  lack  of  interest  on  the  part  of  my 
audience.  To  them  it  was  an  experience  much  as  if 
some  one  could  reproduce  for  ns  the  long-lost  melodies  of 
Arcadia,  or  the  simple  strains  in  which  the  Aryan  shep- 
herd once  wooed  his  Highland  maid. 

When,  after  a  while,  Reva  reminded  me  that  I  had  not 
as  yet  given  any  thing  distinctively  American,  I  found 
myself  in  some  embarrassment.  Payne's  beautiful  lyric 
naturally  first  occurred  to  my  mind.  But  it  might  have 
been  written  by  an  P^nglishman.  It  is,  in  fact,  known 
and  loved  by  thousands  in  the  "  Old  Countr}',"  who  have 
no  suspicion  that  it  is  not  of  native  origin.  For  the  first 
time  it  dawned  upon  me,  that  in  the  "Minstrel  Melodies" 
of  the  last  generation  is  our  nearest  approach  to  a  dis- 
tinctive national  music. 

I  did  not  happen  to  know  a  single  song  in  its  entirety, 
so  was  obliged  to  content  my  hearers  with  a  verse  or  two, 
partly  improvised,  of  "Nell}'  Gray,"  and  "Susanna, 
don't  you  cry."  Somewhat  to  my  surprise,  these  songs 
excited  even  more  interest  than  the  previous  ones.  The 
last  melody  became  a  favorite  with  Reva,  and  with  words 
by  her,  set  to  an  arrangement  ])y  Ulmene,  was  within  a 
month  known  in  every  household  through  the  world.     In 


MUSIC.  233 

those  clays,  'any  thing  worth  knowing  was  spread  over  the 
world  in  an  incredibly  short  time. 

These  songs  naturally  led  to  a  discussion  of  the  slave- 
system,  and  the  struggle  that  led  to  its  extinction  on  this 
continent.  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  I  found,  was  one  of 
the  few  books  that  had  retained  its  popularity  through 
the  long  succession  of  ages.  Version  after  version  had 
appeared,  rendered  necessary  by  the  progressive  changes 
in  the  language.  The  last,  which  had  appeared  about 
fifteen  centuries  before  the  period  of  which  we  are  speak- 
ing, was  regarded  as  one  of  the  choice  classics  of  the 
language. 

A  chance  reference  to  the  "Hero  of  Ossawatomie  " 
recalled  to  my  mind  the  wild,  simple  melody  associated 
with  his  name,  —  a  melody  that  even  now,  to  those  who 
lived  through  that  era  of  blood  and  strife,  seems  ever 
associated  with  the  tramp  of  armed  hosts  and  the  boom 
of  distant  cannon.     At  least,  so  it  is  to  me. 

I  was  too  younw  to  take  part  in,  or  even  to  have  an 
intelligent  understanding  of,  the  great  struggle  at  the 
time.  But  one  of  my  earliest  recollections  is,  of  standing 
at  a  window  with  my  mother  to  see  my  uncle's  regiment 
march  past  on  its  way  to  the  front,  to  take  part  in  the 
last  desperate  struggle  round  Richmond.  It  seems  as  if 
but  yesterday.  How  noble  looked  the  bronzed  and 
bearded  leader  who  rode  at  the  head  of  the  column  ! 
How  diflereut  from  the  pale  and  helpless  form  brought 
back  two  months  later  ! 

He  looked  up  to  our  window.  Sister  though  she  was, 
it  was  not  to  my  mother  alone,  or  chiefl}',  that  was  waved 
that  mute  u'esture  of  farewell.     Just  then  the  band  struck 


234       THE  DwrnAf!;  on,  a  far  look  ahead. 

up;  and  the  whole  eohiinn,  as  witli  one  im[)ulse,  burst 
into  that  quaint  expression  of  the  belief  in  the  superi(jr- 
ity  of  mind  over  matter,  of  eonOdence  that  a  great  prin- 
ciple does  not  perish,  however  it  may  fare  with  its  lirst 
assertors :  — 

*'  John  Brown's  body  Hes  a-moulderhig  in  the  grave, 
But  his  soul  goes  marching  on." 

Thus  they  marched  past,  keeping  step  to  words  and 
tune,  many  never  to  return.  We  watched  them  in  si- 
lence, till  the  last  had  passed  out  of  sight,  and  the  sounds 
grew  faint  in  the  distance.  I,  to  whom  the  whole  had 
been  a  splendid  pageant,  in  which  "  uncle  Thad  "  was 
the  chief  performer,  looked  on  in  mute  astonishment 
when  the  women  fell  sobbing  into  each  other's  arms  after 
we  had  retired  from  the  window.  What  had  they  to  cry 
for?     I  understood  a  little  better  two  montlis  later. 

It  may  have  been  my  vivid  recollection  of  this  scene 
that  lent  some  fire  to  m}'  rendering  of  the  march,  for 
song  it  can  scarcely  be  called  :  at  all  events,  both  my 
auditors  joined  in  the  entreaty  that  1  should  give  one 
verse  in  tlie  very  words  employed  by  the  men  who  had  so 
freely  given  their  lives  in  that  struggle,  the  epoch-making 
character  of  wliicli  was  most  fully  appreciated  in  after- 
ages.  Seeing  their  interest,  in  order  to  give  them  a 
glimpse  of  the  events  of  that  stirring  time,  I  described  the 
scene  above  mentioned,  speaking,  at  first,  of  the  youthful 
spectator  in  the  third  ])erson.  But,  carried  along  by  the 
tide  of  swiftly  recurring  memories,  I  must  have  reverted 
unconsciously  to  the  first  person  ;  for  Reva,  who  had 
listened  with  kindling  eye,  suddenly  exclaimed,  — 


MUSfC.  235 

"  You  speak  as  if  yon  had  seen  that  yourself !  " 

"  Perhaps,"  — began  Hnhnar,  but  checked  himself,  and 
turned  the  subject  by  requesting  Reva  to  endeavor  to 
improvise  a  march  with  that  tune  as  theme.  Beginning 
by  simply  repeating  the  melody  with  slight  variations,  she 
proceeded  to  introduce  chords  in  imitation  of  the  "  tramp, 
tramp  ' '  I  had  described  to  her,  intermingled  with  the 
sound  of  distant  firing. 

Had  I  the  power  to  reproduce  this  grand  improvisation, 
the  republic  would  possess  a  national  march  unsurpassed 
for  majesty,  and  Rougct  de  I'lsle  w-ould  have  a  rival  in 
fame.  Hulmar  himself,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  his 
daughter's  playing,  was  astonished,  as  he  subsequently 
acknowledged.  Inspired  by  what  she  had  just  heard,  she 
poured  out  in  tone  the  emotions  the  grand  theme  aroused 
within  her.  Towards  the  end,  the  triumphant  strain  grad- 
ually died  away  to  an  almost  inaudible  minor  movement, 
suggestive  of  the  shadow  cast  by  even  the  justest  and 
most  triumphant  war. 

We  were  sitting  in  silence,  Reva  still  facing  the  instru- 
ment, when,  tlu'ough  the  open  window,  lalma  and  Utis 
stepped  in  from  the  veranda. 

"  I  wish  Ulmeue  had  heard  that,"  said  lalma.  "You 
never  played  like  that  before." 

She  then  proceeded  to  explain,  that,  finding  Utis  was 
coiuing,  she  had  taken  the  opportunity  to  come  to  stay 
over  night  with  Reva,  for  whom  she  had  several  messages 
f roiu  her  brother. 

"I  was  just  wishing  you  were  here,"  said  Reva.  "I 
have  so  much  to  tell  you." 

Utis  and  I  did  not  remain  long  after  this,  as  it  was 


236  THE   MOTH  AS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

already  late.  It  may  be  imagined,  that  I  was  far  from 
unhappy  on  hearing  Reva's  expression  of  surprise  on  dis- 
covering how  much  time  had  elapsed  since  we  had  risen 
from  table.  On  hearing  this  naive  remark  from  her  pro- 
spective sister,  lalma  looked  at  me,  aud  said  I  looked 
tired.  Though  her  eyes  sparkled  with  suppressed  amuse- 
ment, she  ventured  no  other  remark,  except  that  she  would 
take  good  care  of  my  curricle,  which,  it  had  been  arranged, 
she  was  to  bring  over  in  the  morning. 

This  being  the  first  time  I  journeyed  by  night  in  a  cur- 
ricle, I  saw  in  operation  for  the  first  time  the  electric  lamp 
with  which  it  is  provided,  AYhile  leaving  us  in  sliadow, 
the  lamp  cast  a  long  lane  of  light  befoie  us,  for  fully  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  "We  did  not,  however,  travel  quite  so 
fast  as  b}'  day  ;  so  that  tlie  distance  I  had  traversed  in 
half  an  hour  in  the  morning  took  us  nearly  three-quarters. 


CPIAPTER  XXVIII. 

AN   IMPORTANT   CONVERSATION. 

'^YIIILE  on  the  way  home,  I  had  utilized  the  time  by 
making  to  Utis  my  customary  report  of  the  day's  pro- 
ceedings. He  said  little  till  we  had  reached  my  apart- 
ment. 

''  From  what  you  say,"  he  began,  "  it  is  plain  that  j'oii 
arc  deei)ly  in  love  with  Reva  Diotha." 

I  nodded  assent,  awaiting  in  some  anxiety  what  my 
host  had  further  to  say  ;  as  it  was  manifest  that  he  was 
in  difliculty  as  to  how  to  proceed. 

'■If  you  succeed  in  winning  Reva,"  he  resumed,  "I 
shall  have  good  reason  to  congratulate  \'ou.  I  have  looked 
forward  to  the  possibilitv  of  this  since  the  moment  you 
met  by  the  merest  accident.  It  was  plain  to  me,  that  you 
were,  in  some  way,  strong!}'  attracted  1)}-  her ;  and  she, 
again,  was  at  least  interested  in  her  cousin  from  so  far. 
Events,  however,  have  moved  much  more  rajiiidly  than  I 
expected  ;  and  now  I  find  a  duty  thrust  upon  me  that 
I  hoped  to  escape." 

"•  How  so?  "  I  inquired. 

"  In  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  you  could  not  have 
had  so  many  opportunities  of  seeing  Reva  that  it  would 


238  THE    niOTffAS;    OR,    A    FAR    LOOK    Ani:AD. 

have  been  either  necessary  or  wise  to  speak  before  the 
arrival  of  your  mother.  In  that  event  my  responsil)ility 
would  cease  ;  as  she  is  not  onl}'  3'our  mother,  but  is  also 
a  much  nearer  relative  to  Reva  than  myself.  But  now 
this  sudden  intimacy  with  Hulmar,  who  seems,  in  some 
way.  extraordinarih' taken  with  you,  — for  he  is  not  a  man 
given  to  sudden  friendships,  —  renders  it  but  honorable 
for  you  to  reveal  to  him  your  feelings  toward  his  daugh- 
ter. 

'•Having  once  secured  his  approval,  j'ou  can  then  make 
the  best  of  your  way  witli  Reva.  Her  father's  regard  for 
you,  your  frequent  presence,  the  interest  she  seems  to 
take  in  tliose  times  and  subjects  on  which  3'ou  are  so  well 
qualified  to  speak,  are  all  greatly  in  your  favor,  especially 
the  last.     As  the  wise  old  proverb  sa3's,  — 

*' '  Oft  in  Iier  reveries, 

Nut  far  from  her  heart.'  " 

"Have  you  doulits  as  to  Hulmar's  approval?"  T  in- 
quired, seeing  him  pause,  as  if  doulitful  how  to  proceed. 

"  With  his  present  knowledge  of  you,  I  have  no  doubt 
that  he  would  listen  favoral)ly  to  j'our  suit,  and,  indeed, 
promote  it  as  far  as  a  father  ma3^  There  is  one  circum- 
stance tliat  usually  would  tell  very  much  in  your  favor, 
—  Hulmar's  apprehension  that  his  daughter  may  finally 
resolve  on  becoming  a  zerata." 

"A  zerata?''  said  I,  to  whom  the  term  was  entirely 
new. 

"  I  believe  T  have  not  yet  explained  this  custom  to  you. 
As  you  already  know,  our  women  are  b}'  no  means  cut  off 
from  the  intellectual  life  by  marriage.     All  our  arrange- 


AN   IMPORTANT   CONVERSATION.  239 

ments  are  directed  toward  avoiding  such  a  state  of  mat- 
ters as  far  as  can  be  done. 

"  Yet  there  is  no  denjnug  the  fact,  that  the  pre-occnpa- 
tions  incident  to  their  engagement,  before  marriage,  and 
those  that  come  after,  are  found  to  interfere  considerably 
with  that  concentration  of  thought  and  effort  from  which 
alone  brilliant  success  can  spring.  Many  vioras,  accord- 
ingly, resolutely  kept  clear  from  all  such  entanglements  as 
may  interfere  with  their  prosecution  of  some  favorite  line 
of  study. 

"  If  they  reach  the  age  of  twenty,  bound  l)y  no  engage- 
ment, a  viora  has  the  [)rivilege  of  claiming  admission  to  a 
certain  department  of  the  Muetra.  This  is  a  sort  of 
scientific  cloister,  where,  cut  off  from  the  distractions 
of  the  outer  world,  the}'  may  devote  themselves  to  the 
line  of  investigation  resolved  upon. 

"  Their  quarters  are  comfortable,  even  luxurious.  They 
have  access  to  extensive  li])raries,  and  the  use  of  laboi'a- 
tories  replete  with  every  aid  to  research.  They  are  as- 
sembled twice  a  day  for  a  kind  of  gymnastic  di'ill,  and 
have  full  liljerty  to  roam  at  will  over  all  the  grounds  of 
the  Muetra,  the  extent  of  which  j^ou  remarked  when 
looking  that  way  from  the  roof-garden  in  Nuiorc." 

"Are  they,  then,  not  allowed  to  leave  the  precincts  of 
the  Muetra?"  inquired  I.  "Extensive  though  they  are, 
they  must  seem,  at  last,  very  like  a  prison." 

"  Probably  so,"  said  Utis  ;  "  but  it  is  not  our  policy  to 
make  a  residence  there  altogether  too  desiral)le.  We  do 
not  wish  our  daughters  to  be  debarred  from  the  privilege 
of  devoting  their  lives  to  science  if,  perchance,  they  have 
a  real  vocation  that  way.     We  consider,  however,  that 


240  THE  DIOTUAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

they  will  both  find  and  confer  more  happiness  in  filling 
their  natural  positions  as  wives  and  mothers  than  hy  con- 
suming their  lives  in  the  endeavor  to  add  a  mite  to  the 
already  unmanageable  accumulations  of  human  knowl- 
edge. It  has,  besides,  been  shown,  that  more  has  been 
contributed  to  that  stock  of  knowledge  by  married  women 
than  by  all  the  zerata.  It  must  be  remembered,  however, 
that  the  former  outnumbered  the  latter  a  thousand-fold." 

"  Do  they  remain  there  for  life?"  inquired  I,  further, 
thinking  of  the  deplorable  waste  involved  in  the  immuring 
of  such  grace  and  beauty  as  Reva's  amid  musty  books 
and  noisome  laboratories.  Yet  such  is  the  innate  selfish- 
ness of  the  male  heart  in  such  matters,  that  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  did  not  derive  a  sort  of  gloomy  satisfaction  from 
the  thought  of  her  becoming  inaccessible  to  others  should 
I  fail  to  win  her. 

"By  no  means,"  replied  Utis.  "Twice  ever}-  year 
they  are  requu-ed  to  spend  a  week  at  home,  resuming  the 
orduiary  habit  and  duties  of  the  viomn.  On  reaching 
their  thirtieth  year,  they  return  home  for  a  full  year.  At 
the  end  of  that  time,  should  they  still  remain  heart-free, 
they  are  regarded  as  having  a  real  vocation,  and  attain 
the  i)rivilege  of  going  and  coming  from  their  cloister  at 
will." 

"  Does  Hulmar  fear  any  such  intention  on  the  part  of 
Reva?" 

"  Not  so  much  from  any  thing  she  has  said,  as  from 
her  persistent  rejection  of  all  attentions  on  the  part  of 
even  the  most  eligible  suitors.  Perhaps,  however,  it  may 
siui[)ly  mean  that  the  right  one  has  not  yet  appeared.  It 
is  with  that  probability  I  re-assure  my  friend  when  he 
expresses  his  apprehensions  to  me." 


AN   ntrORTANT   CON  VERS  AT  FON.  241 

Somewhat  re-assured  by  what  I  had  just  heard,  I  re- 
solved on  boldly  facing  the  difliculty,  whatever  it  might  l)e. 

"You  think  my  views  —  my  peculiar  views,  as  you 
call  them  —  would,  if  known  to  Ilulmar,  outweigh  all  his 
present  good  will  toward  me.  AYhat  need  is  there  for  him 
to  know  any  thing  about  them  ?  ' ' 

Utis  regarded  me  with  a  smile,  half  mournful,  half 
amused.     Then,  shaking  his  head, — 

"  ]My  poor  boy,  you  are  under  the  influence  of  that  pas- 
sion to  which  we  excuse  much  ;  but  for  me  there  is  no 
such  excuse.  I  would  do  for  you  all  I  would  for  my  own 
son  ;  but,  even  could  I  so  far  forget  what  is  due  to  my 
oldest  friend  as  to  keep  from  his  knowledge  what  so 
greatly  concerns  him  to  know,  there  are  others  who  would 
not  be  so  reticent." 

''  Then,  others  know  beside  you?  " 

"Yes:  two  others.  Your  grand-uncle  Ruart,  the  old 
gentleman  we  met  the  day  of  your  arrival.  It  was  with 
him  your  mother  first  communicated  in  regard  to  your 
coming .  here.  Ulmene  is  the  other.  It  is  her  right  to 
know  the  antecedents  of  a  new  inmate  of  her  household." 

"In  what  light  do  j'ou  think  Hulmar  will  regard  the 
matter?"  inquired  I,  with  a  sinking  heart,  after  a  long 
pause. 

"  The  most  favorable  supposition  is,  that  he  will  regard 
j'ou  as  a  monomaniac,  or,  at  least,  as  a  person  wliose 
memory  of  the  past  has  undergone  a  peculiar  change. 
Now,  there  is  nothing  we  dread  so  much  as  mental  dis- 
ease. Death  we  can  face  with  equanimity  ;  the  untnnely 
taking  away  of  tliosc  dearest  to  us  we  try  to  bear  with 
resignation  ;  but  insanity  admits  of  no  consolation.     Cases 


242  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OB,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

occur  now  with  comparative  rarity ;  yet  they  do  occur, 
and  cast  a  cloud  over  the  matrimonial  prospects  of  all  the 
kindred  of  the  suft'erev.  You  know  how  it  is  with  your- 
self, and  can  judge  what  is  right  for  you  to  do." 

"  I  suppose,  then,  I  must  seek  an  explanation  with 
Hulmar  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  I,  in  a  dreary  tone.  I 
had  been  living  all  day  in  a  sort  of  fool's  paradise,  and 
now  was  brought  face  to  face  with  the  stubborn  fact  that 
I  could  give  no  such  account  of  my  way  of  viewing  things 
as  would  be  likely  to  convince  any  father  of  my  perfect 
sanity. 

In  some  further  conversation,  the  manner  and  occasion 
of  my  explanation  with  Hulmar  were  discussed.  At  my 
request,  Utis  promised  to  draw  up  a  full  account  of  my 
case,  as  known  to  him. 

''  I  will  plead  with  my  friend  not  to  decide  too  hastily," 
said  Utis,  regarding  me  with  pitying  eyes;  "but  I  ear- 
nestly advise  you  to  rather  come  to  a  verbal  exi»lauatiou, 
and  reserve  my  letter  to  deliver  after,  as  3'ou  see  lit." 

After  some  further  conversation,  he  went  away,  leaving 
me  in  no  enviable  frame  of  mind.  "VVhcu,  after  some 
vain  attempts,  I  did  succeed  in  falling  asleep,  my  slumber 
was  but  another  form  of  mental  distress.  The  ever-re- 
currmg  theme  of  m}'  dreams  was  Reva  and  her  father,  to 
whom  some  dreadful  secret  from  my  past  life  had  been 
revealed.  He  was  regarding  me  with  looks  of  undis- 
guised indignation ;  she,  with  a  shrinking  compassion 
almost  harder  to  bear. 

Awaking  from  one  of  these  distressing  dreams,  I  re- 
solved to  banish,  by  reading,  the  harassing  thoughts  that 
would  obtrude   themselves.     A    slight   pressure  on   the 


AN  IMPORTANT   CONVERSATION.  243 

knob  within  reach  of  my  arm,  and  the  room  was  flooded 
with  light ;  an  easily  made  adjustment  of  my  hammock, 
and  I  had  a  most  luxurious  reading-chair. 

Taking  up  Eured  Thiusen's  great  work  on  the  nine- 
teenth century,  I  chanced  to  open  at  the  appendix,  in 
which  were  given  notes  on  points  that  had  appeared  to 
the  author  of  special  interest  or  difflculty.  Though 
monuments  of  shrewdness,  learning,  and  research,  these 
notes  abounded  with  the,  at  times,  ludicrous  errors  into 
which  even  the  most  careful  writer  is  apt  to  fall  when 
obliged  to  eke  out  imperfect  knowledge  by  conjecture. 

In  the  by  no  means  amiable  mood  in  wdiich  I  befound 
myself  at  the  time,  I  derived,  perhaps,  too  malicious  a 
pleasure  from  the  mistakes  of  a  painstaking  author.  If 
I  give  a  few  here,  it  is  6nly  in  order  to  show  how  dillicult 
it  is  to  avoid  error  when  treating  of  a  period  twice  as 
remote  as  is  that  of  Abraham  from  us. 

Thus,  in  combating  a  prevailing  error  in  regard  to  the 
significance  of  the  term  "  Stalwart,"  so  frequently  recur- 
ring in  the  fragmeutar}'  history  of  that  period,  he  showed 
that  it  was  an  utter  misconception,  having  its  source  in 
the  unscrupulous  language  of  a  venal  and  licentious 
press.  The  Stalwarts  were  not,  as  one  legend  asserted, 
a  band  of  robbers  who,  under  their  notorious  leader 
Gatto-Rusco,  waylaid  and  murdered  a  public  officer  be- 
cause he  refused  to  surrender  to  them  the  treasure  com- 
mitted to  his  keeping. 

This  legend  derived  some  support,  it  is  true,  from  the 
etymology  of  the  word  "stalwart"  as  given  in  a  stand- 
ard authority  of  the  period.  Nor  was  the  fact  of  the 
assassination  of  a  great  officer  to  be  relegated  to  the  long 


244       THE  nrOTnAS;  or,  a  far  look  ahead. 

list  of  sun-myths,  as  liad  been  done  1)}'  the  celebrated 
]\Iutha-Gus,  iu  his  learned  monograph  on  the  sul)ject. 
That  such  a  sad  event  did  occur,  there  seems  but  too 
much  reason  to  believe  ;  but  there  appears  to  be  no  evi- 
dence connecting  the  Stalwarts  with  this  deed  beyond  a 
few  hasty  words  uttered  by  a  thorough-going  member  of 
the  party,  in  a  moment  of  great  excitement. 

The  best  derivation  of  the  api)el!ation,  and  one  borne 
out  by  the  facts,  is  from  "  stall,"  a  place,  and  ''  ward," 
tendency,  thus  showing  that  it  signifies  an  office-seeker, 
and  nothing  else.  These  stall-wards  (for  so  the  word 
ought  properly  to  be  spelled,  and  not  steal-wards,  as 
some  have  ignorantly  proposed)  were,  in  fact,  a  patric^ic 
and  self-sacrificing  bodv  of  men  devoted  to  the  boodle 
(which,  it  seems,  was  their  S3'non3'nie  for  the  common 
■weal),  and  ready  at  all  times  to  sacrifice  themselves  on 
the  altar  of  tlieir  country',  by  heroically  aecejiting  any 
ofliee,  however  remotely  connected  with  the  boodle. 

Yet  even  such  patriotism  did  not  always  meet  witli  due 
recognition  ;  and,  patient  though  they  were,  tliere  was  a 
limit  to  even  their  forl)earancc.  Their  great  leader,  oa 
one  occasion,  disgusted  with  the  utter  lack  of  "  practical 
statesmanship  "  exhibited  by  the  head  of  the  nation  (a 
very  wicked  and  depraved  man,  according  to  the  author- 
ity I  follow) ,  threw  up  his  office,  in  the  name  of  boodle. 
Nor  could  he  be  induced  to  resunje  it,  —  no,  though  a  whole 
State  on  bended  knees  entreated  him  so  to  do.  By  many 
of  his  devoted  admirers,  this  was  regarded  as  the  great- 
est effort  of  his  life,  —  a  life  that  liad  been  devoted  to 
great  efforts  iu  the  cause  of  the  boodle. 

"All  this,"  concluded  Thiusen,  "may  be  relied  upon 


AN   nirORTANT   CONVFRSATTON.  245 

as  a  correct  view  of  the  matter ;  for  I  found  it  written  in 
the  cohnnns  of  that  journal  whose  editor's  name  (as  I 
learned  from  a  fragment  of  a  rival  journal,  the  evidence 
of  which  is,  therefore,  beyond  suspicion)  was  a  synonyme 
for  bigli-toned  veracity  and  disinterested  patriotism, — 
that  journal  which  might  proudly  have  assumed  as 
motto,  — 

'•'■  Solemn  quis  clicere  falsum  audeat  ?  " 

After  this  I  was  not  surprised,  on  turning  over  the 
pages,  to  come  on  other  derivations  that  seemed,  to  say 
the  least,  fanciful.  He  referred  also,  in  all  probabilit}^, 
to  some  age  subsequent  to  this.  This  may  be  inferred 
■when  it  is  stated,  that  from  "congressman,"  he  derives 
the  word  ^^  greshma,"  a  wordy  talker,  a  confidence-man. 
From  the  honorable  title  "alderman"  he  derives 
'■'■  droman,"  a  word  employed  at  one  time  to  designate  a 
low,  disreputable  ruffian.  From  "  law3'er  "  he  derived 
"?a//?/a/i,"  a  wrap-rascal,  a  sort  of  cloak  much  affected 
by  certain  classes.  From  the  name  of  a  certain  well- 
known  organization  he  derived  the  word  '■'tavma,'''  signi- 
fying a  den  of  —  well,  let  us  say  aldermen. 

This  was  too  much.  It  was  trying  enough  to  the  tem- 
per to  read  the  injurious  reference  to  a  profession  to 
which  I  feel  proud  to  belong,  —  tliat  quintessence  of  learn- 
ing, and  mirror  of  politeness  ;  that  stay  of  oppressed  vir- 
tue, and  terror  to  evil-doers  ;  that  body,  the  humblest  of 
whose  members  would  scorn  to  accept  the  bril)e  of  the 
wealthy  oppressor  to  aid  in  crushing  the  weak  ;  l)ut  this 
insult  to  the  citadel  of  American  pat —  B}'  tlie  time'I 
had  reached  thus  far  in  my  soliloquy,  the  l)ook  slipped 
from  my  grasp,  and  I  slept,  this  time  without  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


METEMPSYCHOSIS. 


Though  I  had  slept  soundly  enough  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  night,  I  descended  to  the  workshop  pale  and 
spiritless  ;  for  tlie  morning  light  had  not  shown  my  pros- 
pects in  any  brighter  hues.  lahna,  who  had  returned 
before  breakfast,  attributing  my  evident  depression  to  a 
wi'ong  cause,  strove  to  cheer  me  by  her  lively  remarks. 
She  even  went  so  far  as,  after  breakfast,  to  seek  out 
and  present  to  me  a  sprig  of  eglantine  from  the  garden. 

I  was  waiting  at  the  door  with  my  curricle,  while  Utis 
went  up-stairs  for  the  promised  letter.  The  significance 
of  the  symbol  with  wliich  the  kind-hearted  girl  had  pre- 
sented me  was  encouraging  enough.  In  the  flower-lan- 
guage of  the  period,  it  stood  for  "-Faint  heart  never 
wou." 

"  Reva  has  told  me  of  your  wonderful  discoveries  of 
yesterday,"  said  she.  "  I  have  strongly  encouraged  her 
in  the  idea  t)f  making  that  strange  plant  the  subject  of 
hor  lecture.  "With  the  aid  of  the  notes  you  can  give  her 
on  its  history,  it  ought  to  be  the  most  interesting  lecture 
of  the  season.  Perhaps,  even,  it  might  attain  the  honor 
of  phonographic  repetition  elsewhere. 
246 


METEMPSYCnOSrS.  247 

"Reva  is  ambitious,"  she  coDtiuued,  looking  at  me 
archly  :  "  all  Diothas  are,  they  say.  If  she  attains  to 
such  a  distiuctiou  through  you,  she  will  uot  be  ungrate- 
ful." 

At  this  moment  Utis  made  his  appearance  with  the 
letter.  On  seeing  this,  lalma  begged  me  to  wait  a  mo- 
ment ;  as  she,  too,  had  something  to  send, 

"  These  are  the  last  views  Olav  sent.  I  forgot  to  take 
them  over  last  night.  Perhaps  you  may  see  her  before 
she  leaves,  as  she  does  not  leave  quite  so  early  this  morn- 
ing. I  know  she  will  be  pleased  to  have  the  views  to 
take  with  her." 

These  directions  she  delivered  with  the  most  innocent 
air  in  the  world  ;  imaginmg,  no  doubt,  that  no  daughter 
of  Eve  had  ever  been  sO  profound  a  diplomatist.  Hap- 
pening, however,  to  catch  the  slight  smile  on  the  face  of 
Utis  and  Ulmene,  who  stood  by,  looking  on,  she  blushed 
slightly,  and  waved  her  hand  in  dismissal.  Utis,  too, 
giving  a  nod  of  encouragement,  I  started  off  in  better 
spirits  than  I  should  have  thought  possil)le  an  hour  before. 

The  rapid  motion  contnlnitcd  still  further  to  raise  my 
spirits.  Never  before  had  I  made  such  speed  ;  yet  Reva 
had  already  left  the  house,  so  that  I  met  her  a  few  yards 
from  the  entrance  to  the  narrow  road  leading  to  their 
house. 

She  would,  perhaps,  have  contented  herself  with  giving, 
in  passing,  the  customar}'  gesture  of  courteous  recognition, 
but  that  I  i)lanted  nn'self  full  in  her  path.  I  was  resolved 
on  a  few  more  words,  perhaps  the  last.  For,  should  her 
father  take  the  view  of  matters  that  Utis  evidently  feared, 
nothing,  I  felt  sure,  would  induce  her  to  act  contrary  to 


218         THE   DrOTUAfi;   OR,   A    FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

his  wishes,  even  if  her  heart  were  strongly  enlisted  in  the 
nifitter.  Yet  1  luul,  thus  far,  no  reason  to  hope  that  I 
had  excited  more  tiian  a  passing  interest. 

Finding  her  way  thus  blocked,  not  disitleased,  perhaps, 
at  the  excuse  thus  offered,  she  stop[)ed  her  curricle,  and 
inquired  whether  1  had  brought  any  message.  I  produced 
the  excuse  with  which  the  kindly  forethought  of  lalnia 
had  provitled  me.  IJeva  turned  the  leaves  of  the  album 
somewhat  absently,  as  I  tiionght.  Perhaps  she  was  con- 
scious of  the  inteutness  of  my  gaze  ;  for  I  gazed  as  one 
that  looks  his  last  upon  what  he  scarcely  hopes  to  see 
again,  except  in  memory. 

''  You  look  pale,"  she  said  hesitatingl}',  as  she  returned 
the  album.  "  I  hope  we  did  not  overwork  you  yester- 
day." 

As  she  said  this,  with  a  touch  of  shj'ness  quite  new  in 
her  manner,  and  in  a  tone  that  showed  real  concern,  with 
despair  I  thought  her  more  adorable,  though,  alas  !  more 
inaccessible,  than  ever.  It  must  have  been  some  such 
feeling  that  made  me  reckless.  I  cannot  otherwise  ac- 
count for  the  audacit}'  of  my  reply. 

"  For  what  ails  me,  this  has  been  recommended  as  a 
remedy,"  said  I,  producing  the  sprig  of  eglantine,  and 
holding  it  up  to  her  view. 

"  That!  "  she  exclaimed,  in  evident  surprise.  ""Who 
recommended  that  as  a  remedy?  and  for" —  She  did 
not  complete  the  question.  Some  sudden  idea  seemed  to 
strike  her  :  she  checked  herself,  colored  slightly,  and  mur- 
murnig,  "  I  must  be  going,"  l)egan  to  put  her  vehicle  in 
motion.     But  not  thus  was  she  to  escape, 

"Does  any  of  this  plant  grow  in  your  garden?"  I 
inquired,  walking  beside  the  curricle. 


METEMTFi  YCnOS/S.  249 

"Perhaps  it  might  be  found  b}'  seelving,"  she  replied 
demurely,  having  by  this  recovered  herself. 

"  If  1  am  not  able  to  find  it,  would  you  perhaps  "  — 

"In  my  opinion  you  are  abundantly  able  to  help  your- 
self in  that  matter,"  said  she;  and,  with  this  Parthian 
shot,  off  she  darted  down  the  road,  leaving  me  in  doubt 
whether  I  had  acted  prudently  in  putting  that  last  ques- 
tion. 

Ilulmar  received  me  with  such  evident  gratification, 
that,  for  a  moment,  I  thought  of  opening  the  question 
then  and  there.  Ikit  I  could  not  face  the  possiliilit}'  of  a 
failure  that  would  probably  necessitate  my  departure  wilh- 
out  again  seeing  Reva.  It  would  be  early  enough  in  the 
evening  to  learn  my  fate.  Meanwhile  I  could  once  more, 
at  least,  enjoy  the  privilege  of  her  society.  Another  im- 
portant reason  for  delay  occurred  to  me.  I  nuist  afford 
Ilulmar  another  opportunity  of  discovering  my  capacity 
for  mental  labor,  a  matter  that  might  prove  of  decisive 
importance  when  the  critical  moment  arrived. 

All  that  morning,  accordingly,  I  worked  as  I  never 
had  worked  before.  Our  method  of  working  was  some- 
what as  follows  :  with  a  recording  phonograpjh  before  me, 
I  translated,  aloud,  passages  from  such  authors  as  had  a 
bearing  on  the  subject  in  hand.  Meanwhile  Ilulmar  lis- 
tened attentively,  and,  if  any  thing  in  my  version  seemed 
obscure,  signalled  me  to  stop  till  the  matter  was  cleared 
up  to  his  satisfaction. 

Tliis  somewhat  exhausting  labor  was  varied  by  frequent 
diversions  to  lighter  toi)ics,  in  discussions  upon  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Had  my 
auditor  been  intending  to  write  an   historical  novel,  he 


250  THE  DIOTHAS;   OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

could  not  have  ])cen  more  minute  in  his  inquiries.  More 
than  once  I  glided  insensibly  into  the  character  of  one 
relating  what  he  has  seen,  rather  than  merely  repeating 
what  he  has  read.  At  this  Hulmar  manifested  no  sur- 
prise ;  attributing  it,  as  I  supposed,  to  the  influence  of  a 
vivitl  imagination. 

"  Yes,  we  have  done  a  good  morning's  work,"  said 
Hulmar,  in  reply  to  Reva's  inquiry,  as  we  sat  at  table  ia 
the  middle  of  the  day.  "So  well,  indeed,"  he  contin- 
ued, "  have  we  emploj'ed  our  time,  that,  should  I  now, 
by  some  unforeseen  mischance,  be  deprived  of  Ismar's 
further  assistance,  I  could  manage  to  make  shift  without. 
The  most  important  i)oints  are  now  in  my  possession :  the 
rest  are  matters  of  detail." 

It  may  be  imagined  with  what  feelings  I  listened  to  this 
announcement.  What  followed,  however,  was  more  en- 
couraging. 

"  Yet  I  should  sorely  grudge  the  labor  involved  in  these 
details,"  he  went  on,  "  if  left  to  my  own  resources.  With 
Ismar  I  can  accomplish  in  a  pleasant  morning's  work  what 
without  him  would  take  months  of  drudj^cr}^  to  accom- 
plish." 

Reva  seemed  so  pleased  at  her  father's  evident  satisfac- 
tion, expressed,  not  in  words,  but  by  her  whole  demeanor, 
so  much  gratitude  for  the  zest  I  was  imparting  to  his  life, 
that  I  felt  amply  repaid  for  the  labors  of  the  morning. 
It  was  with  cheerfulness,  therefore,  that  I  followed  him 
to  the  study,  willing  to  earn  her  approbation  by  even 
greater  exertions. 

"  I  am  not  so  utterly  unreasonable  as  to  impose  further 
on  your  kindness  to-day,"  said  Hulmar  with  a  smile,  on 


METEMPSYCnOSTS.  251 

seeing  that  I  had  followed  him.  "We  have  done  quite 
enough  for  one  day.  We  may  now  fairly  allow  ourselves 
some  relaxation.  Did  you  ever  read  the  remarkable  his- 
tory of  Metis  Telleth?" 

I  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  I  had  never  so  much 
as  heard  of  the  name  before.  This  was  not  so  surprising 
when  it  is  stated  that  the  said  Metis  did  not  live  till  about 
the  middle  of  the  fifty-fourth  century.  Yet,  for  reasons 
that  will  presently  appear,  there  were  few  books  so  gen- 
erally known,  or  that  had  excited  so  much  controversy. 

"I  thought  not,"  said  Ilulmar,  continuing  to  examine 
the  backs  of  the  numerous  volumes  on  his  shelves. 
"That  is  why  I  have  come  here  to  seek  a  small  volume 
that  I  have  no  doubt  would  prove  of  great  interest  to 
you.  It  is,  however,  a  favorite  of  Reva's ;  and  I  may 
have  to  look  for  it  among  her  books." 

At  this  moment  a  call  to  the  telephone  sounded.  After 
a  brief  conversation  with  the  sender  of  the  call,  Hulmar 
announced  to  me  that  he  would  be  detained  for  a  short 
time,  but  would  presently  follow  me  to  the  garden.  I 
may  here  mention,  that  the  universal  diffusion  of  tele- 
phonic communication  was  not  an  altogether  unmixed  ad- 
vantage, especially  to  men  of  mark  in  any  department 
of  intellectual  activity.  A  question  could  be  answered 
with  greater  facility  Iiy  telephone  than  by  letter,  it  is 
true,  but  must  be  attended  to  at  once,  and  might  come 
at  any  moment. 

Leaving  Hulmar  in  conversation  with  his  correspondent, 
I  went  in  search  of  Reva.  I  found  her  in  the  garden, 
standing  before  her  pet  plant,  absorbed,  apparentl^y,  in  a 
deep  revery.     From  the  slight,  though  almost  impercep- 


252  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

tible,  start  she  gave  upon  becoming  aware  that  I  was 
standing  beside  her,  I  was  vain  enough  to  imagine  that  I 
bad  not  been  without  a  share  in  her  revery,  and  was  pro- 
portionately encouraged  by  the  thought. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  began  hurriedly,  then  paused,  as 
if  seeking  for  the  best  expression  for  her  thought. 

"Of  restoring  my  proi)erty?  "  said  I,  pointing  to  the 
sprig  of  eglantine  she  held  in  her  hand. 

"  It  was  not  of  that  I  was  thinking,"  said  she,  with  a 
slightly  nervous  little  laugh.  "I  am  quite  willing,  how- 
ever, to  restore  your  property,  though  you  seem  very 
careless  of  it.  I  found  it  on  the  ground,  where  you  liad 
dropped  it,  or  perhaps  thrown  it  awa3\" 

"  Will  you  not  restore  it  now?  "  said  I,  seeing  that  she 
made  no  movement  to  hand  over  the  little  half-withered 
sprig,  to  which  I  now  attached  an  importance  altogether 
disproportioned  to  its  intrinsic  value  ;  that  is,  could  I  but 
obtain  it  from  her  own  hand. 

"  You  would  probably  only  lose  it  again.  I  will  place 
it  in  water,  then  you  will  find  it  quite  fresh  when  3'ou  go 
home." 

As  she  stood  there,  the  hand  that  held  the  coveted  sprig 
behind  her,  looking  so  pvovokingly  defiant,  so  bewitch- 
ingly  perverse,  not  only  did  her  strange  likeness  to  some 
one  formerly  known  become  almost  tangible,  but  I  also 
experienced  a  feeling  as  unaccountable  as  irresistible,  of 
having  on  some  former  occasion  passed  through,  and  with 
her,  a  precisel}'  similiar  experience. 

"O  Reva,  Rova !  "  I  exclaimed  passionatel}',  hurried 
on,  as  it  were,  by  a  power  beyond  myself.  ''  Do  you  not 
see  what  it  is  to  me  to  receive  that  symbol   from  your 


METEMrsYcnosrs.  253 

riand?  It  is  in  yo\n-  hands  to  make  me  very  happy  or 
very  miserable." 

A  something  ifi  my  tone  seemed  to  affect  her  strangely. 
She  looked  into  my  eyes  witli  a  sort  of  startled  wonder, 
then,  looking  down  with  maiden  sh^'ness,  said  in  a  low 
voice,  while  hesitatingly,  almost  reluctantly,  she  held  to- 
ward me  that  for  which  I  had  so  earnestly  pleaded, — 

"You  know,  Ismar,  that  I  would  not  willing!}' make 
you  unhappy,  —  for  so  trifling  a  matter  at  least,"  she 
added,  as  if  fearing  she  had  said  too  much. 

The  tone  in  which  she  uttered  these  words,  the  action 
that  accompanied  them,  the  expression,  revealed  to  me, 
as  in  a  flash,  the  solution  of  what  had  been  to  me  hitherto 
an  insoluble  problem.  Now  I  knew  to  whom  she  bore  so 
subtle  a  resemblance  in  voice,  in  feature,  in  manner. 
Now  the  wonder  was,  that  I  could  remain  so  long  lilind  to 
so  obvious  a  fact.  In  my  intense  astonishment,  I  uttered 
a  name  that  was  not  that  of  Rcva. 

AVhat  further  might  have  passed,  it  is  impossible  to 
sa}' ;  for  at  this  moment  Hulmar  made  his  ap[)earance. 
He  carried  in  his  hand  a  small  volume.  From  tlie  style 
of  binding,  I  knew  that  it  belonged  to  a  lady's  library  ;  for 
there  was  a  distinct  stjde  of  binding  affected  by  the  fair 
sex,  who  indulged  in  this  matter,  as  in  others,  their  char- 
acteristic love  of  the  beautiful. 

"  I  have  found  the  book,"  said  he,  as  he  drew  near. 

"  If  you  had  told  me,  I  could  have  saved  you  a  search," 
said  Reva,  evidently  relieved  b}'  the  advent  of  a  third  to 
break  up  an  interview  that  threatened  to  become  embar- 
rassing. "It  has  been  among  my  books  for' nearly  a 
year." 


254  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

"  V^Q  had  some  conversation  this  morning  in  regard  to 
the  systems  of  philosophy  current  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury," said  Huhnar,  after  we  had  seated  ourselves  in  the 
arbor,  "I  omitted  to  incjuire,  however,  as  to  the  preva- 
lent opinion  as  to  the  doctrine  of  the  metempsychosis," 

I  was  obliged  to  avow,  that  1  had  not  given  any  special 
attention  to  the  sul)ject. 

"Do  you  think  the  doctrine  unreasonable?"  inquired 
Hulmar  further,  after  some  slight  discussion  of  the 
matter. 

"By  no  means,"  was  m}-  reply.  "  Could  it  be  estab- 
lished, it  would  go  far  to  clear  up  many  of  the  most  per- 
plexing ditliculties  that  confront  us  in  attempting  to  solve 
the  problem  of  human  existence.  But,  unfortunately,  it  is 
not  supported  by  a  fragment  of  evidence." 

"  Such  is  the  prevailing  opinion  even  now-,"  said  Hul- 
mar. "  In  both  great  divisions  of  religious  thought,  the 
doctrine  of  which  we  are  speaking  is  left  an  open  ques- 
tion. But  by  no  means  a  small  number  hold  to  the  belief, 
that  each  human  soul  inhabits  in  succession  a  series  of 
bodies,  in  each  going  through  a  certain  stage  of  the 
education  by  which  it  is  fitted  for  a  liigher  state  of  exist- 
ence. We  who  hold  this  doctrine  do  so,  not  onl}^  on 
account  of  its  intrinsic  reasonableness,  but  also  liecanse 
we  are  of  opinion,  that,  though  generally  hidden  from  our 
eyes,  a  dim  perception  of  pre-existence  is  at  times  present 
to  ever}^  soul.  What  is  your  experience  in  that  respect?  " 
said  he,  addressing  me. 

"  I  am  as  convinced  of  the  fact  as  I  am  of  m}'  own 
existence!  "  I  exclaimed,  recalling  vividly  m}'  late  experi- 
ence ;  while  Reva's  cheek,  too,  grew  pale,  as  if  with  a 
solemn  recollection. 


METEMPSYCHOSIS.  255 

"  But  there  is  yet  stronger  aud  more  direct  evidence 
than  that,"  continued  Huhnar.  "  In  this  book  are  col- 
lected instances  of  people  whose  minds,  for  some  unex- 
plained reason,  retained  more  or  less  complete  recol- 
lection of  their  experiences  during  some  previous  period 
of  existence,  from  the  time  of  Pythagoras  down.  The 
most  remarkable  of  these  cases  is  that  of  Metis  Telleth, 
from  which  I  purpose  reading  a  few  extracts." 

"  But,  surely,  Ismar  must  be  familiar  with  the  stor}^  of 
Metis,"  objected  Reva. 

Upon  my  assurance  that  I  had  not  even  heard  the  name 
of  Metis  till  a  few  minutes  before,  she  regarded  me  with 
eyes  of  wonder  and  doubt,  but  made  no  further  objection. 
Ilulmar  then  began  to  read  to  us  the  account  of  a  case  in 
which,  to  my  ever-increasing  surprise,  I  recognized  the 
details  of  an  experience  resembling  mine  in  man}-  re- 
spects. Reva  listened  with  the  rapt  attention  awakened 
by  her  gradually  dawning  perception  of  her  father's  drift. 
She  did  not  once  raise  her  eyes  from  tlie  ground  ;  so  that 
I  was  unable  to  judge  of  the  effect  on  her  of  this  strange 
story,  and  its  probable  application  to  myself. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  case?  "  inquired  Hulmar, 
on  closing  the  book. 

"  It  might,  with  a  few  changes,  pass  for  an  account  of 
m}'  own,"  was  my  instant  reply.  The  time  had  arrived 
for  an  explanation,  and  it  was  with  unspeakable  relief 
that  I  saw  the  way  thus  rendered  plain. 

I  ma}'  have  felt  doubts  since ;  but,  at  tlie  moment,  I 
really  believed  that  Hulmar  had  hit  upon  the  true  ex- 
planation of  my  extraordinarj'  experiences.  It  explained 
every  thing  so  plausibly,  and  in  a  manner  so  much  more 


2o6  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

soothing  to  ray  self-love  than  that  suggested  by  Utis, 
which  amounted,  in  fact,  to  a  quasi  acknowledgment  of 
monomania,  if  not  mild  lunacy. 

Hulmar  seemed  not  in  the  least  surprised  by  m}^  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  resemblance  of  my  case  to  that  of 
Metis.  He  merely  nodded  with  a  satisfied  expression, 
that  seemed  to  say,  "  Exactly  as  I  expected."  lleva,  on 
the  other  hand,  regarded  me  with  a  sort  of  awed  silence. 
The  idea  was  too  strange  to  become  at  once  familiar. 

"As  early  as  yesterda}'  morning,"  said  Hulmar,  "a 
remark  of  yours  first  suggested  to  me  the  startling  idea, 
tliat  yours  is  one  of  those  extraordinary  experiences  like 
that  of  Metis.  Your  wonderfully  accurate  acquaintance 
with  the  life  and  thought  of  so  distant  an  age,  a  knowl- 
edge that  did  not,  however,  seem  to  come  down  Itcyond  a 
certain  date  ;  your  comparative  want  of  knowledge  of  the 
present  age,  —  all  tended  to  the  same  conclusion. 

"Yours  is  a  strange,  and,  I  may  say,  enviable  experi- 
ence," he  continued,  regarding  me  with  something  of  the 
same  awe  that  I  had  remarked  in  the  countenance  of 
Rova.  "  You  enjoy  the  rare  privilege,  —  so  rare,  indeed, 
that  the  reality  of  its  occurrence  has  been  generally 
doubted, — the  privilege  of  being  able  to  compare,  by 
personal  experience,  the  condition  of  our  race  at  widely 
separated  periods  of  time.  How  much  would  I  give  to 
enjoy  the  same  privilege  !  Yet  you  may  feel  assured,  that 
I  fully  appreciate  the  privilege,  inferior  only  to  yours,  — 
that  of  enjoying  the  society  and  conversation  of  such  a 
one." 

As  he  uttered  these  words  with  an  earnest  entluisiasm, 
that  showed  how  thoroughly  convinced  was  the  speaker 


METEMrSYCnOSff^.  257 

of  the  renlih'  of  what  lie  referred  to,  I  liegan  to  appreci- 
ate how  greatly  the  situation  was  changed  to  my  advan- 
tage from  what  I  had  feared  in  the  morning.  Far  from 
having  to  urge  ray  suit  as  a  suspected  hmatic,  I  saw  my- 
self regarded  with  an  interest  that  bordered  on  awe.  If 
I  should  be  held  in  the  same  esteem  as  my  prototype, 
Metis,  my  position  would  leave  little  to  be  desired.  Reva 
said  nothing,  but  I  could  see  that  her  father's  conviction 
was  hers  also. 

"Though  my  story  is  in  many  ways  similar  to  that  of 
Metis,"  I  began,  by  way  of  preface  to  the  account  I  saw 
was  expected  of  me  ;  "  yet,  in  one  important  respect,  my 
experience  is  widely  different  from  his." 

"In  what  way?"  inquired  Hulmar,  whose  interest  in 
what  I  was  about  to  say  was  scarce!}'  veiled  by  the  calm 
courtesy  of  his  manner. 

"  The  reminiscences  of  IMetis  began  at  a  comparatively 
early  age,  and  only  by  slow  degrees  attained  the  consist- 
cncN'  of  a  connected  history.  They  never  obscured  his 
recollection  of  his  early  life  among  the  generation  to 
whom  he  related  his  wonderful  story.  ]My  knowledge  of 
this  present  age  of  the  world,  on  the  other  hand,  seems 
to  date  from  only  a  few  days  back." 

I  then  went  on  to  give  a  brief  account  of  my  experi- 
ences during  the  preceding  week,  —  briefer,  that  is  to  say, 
than  the  account  contained  in  these  pages,  yet  omitting 
nothing  essential.  I  was  listened  to  with  a  rapt  attention 
that  showed  the  intense  interest  of  my  Hearers.  In 
Reva's  beautiful  eyes,  upraised  from  where  she  sat  on  a 
low  seat  beside  her  father,  I  could  read  the  mutations  of 
curiosity,  wonder,  and  sympathy,  as  I  advanced  in  my 
narrative. 


258  THE    DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD, 

"I  have  explained  the  views  of  Utis  on  this  subject," 
I  ended.  "In  this  letter  you  will  find  these  views  set 
out  at  greater  length." 

riulmar  soon  became  absorbed  in  the  perusal  of  the 
letter  I  had  so  shrunk  from  presenting  that  morning,  but 
which  I  now  gladly  presented  as  an  appendix  to  my  story. 
During  the  reading,  which  occupied  some  time,  as  the 
communication  was  by  no  means  brief,  Reva  began, — 

"This  is  wonderful,  —  far  more  so  than  the  story  of 
Metis." 

"  Is  that  story  specially  interesting  to  you  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"How  could  any  one  fail  to  be  interested?"  rei)lied 
Reva.  "  How  often,  seated  under  this  very  tree,  have  I 
mused  over  that  story,  and  wished"  — 

"Well?  "  said  I,  seeing  that  she  hesitated. 

"  It  was  from  no  idle  curiosity  ,•  1)ut  I  did  earnestly 
wish  sometimes  for  the  privilege  of  being  allowed,  even 
for  a  single  hour,  to  put  such  questions  as  I  pleased  in 
regard  to  that  distant  past." 

"As  far  as  my  knowledge  extends,"  said  I  earnestly, 
"that  wish  shall  be  gratified,  not  for  one  hour  only,  l)ut 
for  as  many  as  you  can  possibly  wish.  You  will  sooner 
,  weary  of  questioning  than  I  of  answering." 

"You  will  not  find  me  unreasonable,"  replied  she,  with 
a  smile  that  would  have  repaid  me  for  the  severest  toils  in 
her  service.  "But  I  will  avail  myself  of  your  promise. 
There  are  so  many  things  I  would  like  to  ask  about." 

By  this  time  Reva  had  quite  recovered  from  that  feel- 
ing of  distance,  or  awe,  the  first  effect  of  the  revelation 
to  which  she  had  just  listened,  and'«>  gradually  resumed  the 
pleasant,  cousinly  tone  of  our  intercourse  of  the  preced- 


METEMPSYCHOSIS.  259 

ing  day.  Taking  advantage  of  this  favorable  turn  of 
affairs,  I  exacted  a  promise  tliat  my  fair  cousin  would  act 
as  my  adviser  and  guide  amid  the  shoals  and  quicksands 
of  the,  to  me,  unaccustomed  social  etiquette  of  the 
period.  The  need  of  such  guidance  in  my  case  I  was 
able  foi'cibly  to  illustrate  by  a  reference  to  that  little 
adventure  of  mine  on  the  morning  when  I  tried  my  new 
curricle.  Reva,  with  a  barely  perceptible  blush,  assured 
me  that  the  apology  I  offered  was  quite  unnecessary ; 
since,  though  surprised  at  what  she  regarded  as  an  in- 
stance of  the  peculiar  customs  prevalent  at  the  antipodes, 
she  had  perfectly  understood  my  intention.  I  was  about 
to  follow  up  the  advantageous  opening  thus  presented, 
when  Hulmar,  replacing  in  the  envelope  the  sheets  of  the 
letter,  began,  — 

"  I  will  let  you  have  this  to  read  by  and  by,"  said  he 
to  his  daughter.  "  At  present  I  must  go  to  set  at  ease 
the  mind  of  Utis  in  regard  to  this  business.  As  for  you, 
Ismar,  you  have  my  best  wishes  in  regard  to  that  other 
matter  here  referred  to." 


CmVPTER  XXX. 


A   CURRICLE-RIDE. 


Acting  on  the  hint  thus  given,  I  was  not  slow  to  put 
the  question  that  had  even  before  been  trembling  on  my 
lips.  AVhut  words  or  arguments  I  employed,  it  is  un- 
necessary to  repeat.  After  all,  my  proposal  was  nothing 
60  very  formidable.  In  consenting  to  take  a  seat  in  my 
curricle,  Reva  committed  herself  to  nothing  more  than  a 
formal  acceptance  of  me  as  a  suitor  on  probation,  — a  re- 
lation that  did  not  necessarily  imply  an  association  more 
intimate  than  had  practically  existed  between  us  for  two 
days  past. 

"Yet  it  would  have  been  so  pleasant  to  go  on  as  hith- 
erto," she  said  with  a  little  sigh;  "but  that,  I  suppose, 
could  not  be." 

"  Have  these  daj's  been  so  pleasant?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes,  very  pleasant,  both  to  my  father  and  myself." 

"  Wh}'  not,  then,  continue  as  we  have  been,  —  as  nearly, 
at  least,  as  ma}^  be?  " 

Reva  looked  at  me  inquiiingly. 

"  You  have  an  aversion  to  l)inding  up  3'our  hair?  " 

"It  does  seem  to  me  a  sign  of  bondage,"  was  her 
reply. 

260 


A   CURRICLE-RIDE.  201 

""Well,  then,  what  need  to  bind  it  up,  except  when 
custom  requires,  if  it  does  require,  that  we  appear  to- 
gether in  public?  Otherwise  let  us  go  on  just  as  here- 
tofore." 

"  Is  this  a  promise?  "  inquired  Reva. 

"A  promise,"  said  I. 

"  You  will  not,  then,  ask  me  to  go  out  unless  I  really 
wish  to  go  ?  " 

"But  how  can  I  tell,"  I  exclaimed,  "when  such  a 
request  will  not  prove  unwelcome?  " 

"Let  me  see  —  perhaps  I  may —  But  this  is  better. 
When  I  baud  you  a  slip  of  eglantine  in  this  wmy,"  said 
she,  suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  "or  when  j^ou  find 
such  a  slip  in  the  table-bouquet,  opposite  3-our  place  at 
table,  you  will  know  that  I  would  like  you  to  take  me 
somewhere." 

"  You  will  find  me  an  obedient  slave,"  said  I,  with  an 
air  of  mock  resignation.     "  I  only  hope  "  — 

"You  must  not  talk  in  that  way,"  exclaimed  Reva, 
checking  me  with  finger  uplifted  in  warning,  "if  we  are 
to  be  good  friends  !  ' ' 

As  already  has  been  remarked,  truthfulness  and  sin- 
cerity were  marked  characteristics  in  the  people  of  this 
period.  Hence  an  utter  al)sence  of  the  hollow  phrases 
that  form  so  large  a  part  of  our  social  currcnc}',  —  a  cur- 
rency so  Avell  worn  as,  in  many  cases,  to  require  the  aid 
of  an  expert  to  determine  the  original  image  and  super- 
scription. If  a  person  had  any  thing  to  say,  it  was  said 
with  all  courtesy,  but  at  the  same  time  with  strict  adher- 
ence to  the  truth  as  known  to  the  speaker.  If,  for 
any  reason,  it  would  be  inconvenient  or  undesirable  to 


2C2  THE   DIOTffAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

give  an  answer  to  an  interrogation,  tucit  or  expressed, 
a  slight  gesture,  made  by  raising  tlie  hand  with  the  pahn 
outward,  put  an  end  to  all  questioning  on  that  topic. 

Trained  from  childhood  to  respect  this  sign,  none  ever 
thought  of  inquiring  for  which  of  a  hundred  possible 
reasons  the  question  might  be  inopportune.  Far  from 
acting  as  a  restriction,  this  convention  tended  to  promote 
freedom  of  social  intercourse.  Less  anxious  considera- 
tion was  requisite  as  to  whether  a  given  inquiry  would 
prove  embarrassing,  seeing  that  the  person  addressed 
possessed  a  ready  means  of  putting  it  gently  aside.  A 
small  hand,  of  a  material  resembling  ivory,  was  an  inva- 
riable adjunct  of  the  desk  or  workbench.  The  palm 
turned  outward  indicated  that  the  person  engaged  at  the 
table  or  bench  desired  his  attention  not  to  be  distracted 
for  any  slight  cause :  the  contrar}^  position  showed  that 
he  or  she  might  be  freely  addressed.  These  are  but 
examples  of  a  number  of  conventional  signs,  which  not 
only  effected  a  considerable  economy  of  words,  but  also 
obviated  much  ol  the  friction  of  social  intercourse. 

As  may  be  supposed,  a  tone  of  insincere  or  exagger- 
ated compliment  was  utterl}'  foreign  to  the  mental  habits 
of  people  trained  in  such  a  way.  Indeed,  the  habitual 
use  among  us  of  that  style  of  address  towards  woman 
was  regarded  by  writers  upon  our  times  as  an  evidence 
of  the  incompleteness  of  our  civilization  ;  since  it  showed, 
that,  to  a  certain  extent,  we  were  still  under  the  influence 
of  the  old  savage  idea  of  the  comparative  inferiority  of 
the  female  sex.  "  Just  as  in  the  history  of  man,"  com- 
mented an  author  already  quoted,  "the  moral  only  by 
slow  degrees  gained  an  ascendency  over  the  physical;  so 


A   CURRICLE-RIDE.  263 

woman  rose  by  slow  and  painful  steps  from  the  degraded 
position  she  held  among  savages.  AVhen  savagery  gave 
way  to  barbarism,  force  to  deceit,  man  ceased,  indeed, 
to  beat  the  weaker  sex,  but  did  not  scruple  to  cheat 
her.  Instead  of  the  fair  share  of  rights  justly  due  to 
her  as  a  being  as  highly  endowed  as  himself,  though  in  a 
different  way,  he  magnanimously  handed  over  to  her  the 
savage  ornaments  with  which  he  no  longer  deigned  to 
adorn  his  own  person,  gilding  her  real  slavery  by  fine 
phrases,  and  veiling  his  own  as  real  sense  of  superiority 
by  a  tone  of  insincere  adulation  that  he  would  have  re- 
garded as  an  insult  to  his  understanding  if  addressed  to 
himself." 

Fearing,  perhaps,  that  she  had  hurt  my  feelings  by  that 
gentle  warning,  Reva  went  on  to  say,  — 

"Had  I  not  so  much  regard  for  you,  Ismar,  I  would 
not  be  so  ready  to  warn  you." 

"  You  have,  then,  some  regard  for  me?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  she,  with  the  charming  frankness  of 
one  utterly  unaccustomed  to  deceit  or  fear:  "I  think 
I  liked  you  from  the  first;  and" —  here  she  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  as  if  contending  with  a  sudden  access  of 
shyness,  yet  went  bravely  on,  busily  occupied  meanwhile 
in  the  arrangement  of  some  flowers,  "  if  my  regard  goes 
on  increasing  as  since  then,  we  shall  be  —  very  good 
friends.     But  come  :  it  is  time  to  go  in." 

Near  the  door  we  met  Hulmar.  He  could  easily  read 
hi  my  face  how  the  matter  stood  ;  for,  at  that  moment,  I 
felt  supremely  happy. 

"Is  it  so?"  he  inquired  of  me  ,*  but,  hardly  waiting  for 
my  gesture  of  assent,  he  stooped,  and  tenderly  kissed  his 
daughter  on  the  forehead. 


2G4  THE    DTOTUAS ;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

"  M}'  dear  child,  you  make  me  very  happy." 

"Are  you,  then,  so  glad  at  the  prospect  of  being  rid 
of  me?"  she  murmured,  in  a  tone  of  gentle  reproach,  as 
she  held  down  his  stately  head  to  return  his  salute. 

"  Jso,  my  child.  I  am  glad  for  the  exactly  contrary 
reason.  Come,  let  us  sit  here,  and  discuss  this  matter  iu 
a  reasonable  manner.  Ismar,  here,"  he  continued  after 
we  had  taken  our  seats,  "  is  twenty-five:  you,  Reva,  are 
a  few  days  past  your  nineteenth  birthday.  Assuming, 
then,  that  all  goes  smoothl}^  it  will  be  two  years  and  a 
half,  at  least,  before  you  will  leave  me  to  enter  into  that 
most  intimate  of  human  relations.  Two  j^ears  and  a  half, 
my  children,  is  none  too  long  for  that  attuning  of  two 
minds  to  each  other,  from  which  results  perfect  harmony 
of  character.  I  have  even  some  hopes,"  he  went  on, 
patting  meanwhile  the  little  hand  he  held  in  his,  "that  I 
need  not  lose  3'ou  even  then.  I  understand  from  Utis, 
that  Osna  Diotha  thinks  of  settling  here  permanently  in 
her  native  district.  In  that  case,  Ismar,  there  will  be 
little  to  recall  you  to  Maoria." 

"  I  can  assure  you,"  said  I  earnestly,  "  there  is  nothing 
whatever  to  recall  me  there;  since  I  have  never  —  that 
is,  I  have  no  consciousness  of  ever  having  been  in  that 
island." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  my  little  plan,"  said  Hulmar. 
"Olav  and  lalma  will,  of  course,  give  me  the  pleasure 
of  their  society  for  a  year  or  two.  But  it  has  been  ar- 
ranged, that  eventually  they  shall  make  their  home  with 
lalraa's  father,  who  has  no  son.  At  times,  I  must  con- 
fess, I  have  looked  forward  with  some  sinking  of  the  heart 
to  the  time  when  I  should  be  obliged  to  live  here  in  soli- 


A    CURRICLE-RIDE.  265 

tude,  or  leave  a  spot  endeared  to  me  by  many  memories. 
Could  I  but  see  my  dear  child  the  happy  mistress  of  the 
home  of  which  her  .mother  was  once  the  light,  1  should 
have  attained  the  fulfilment  of  one  of  those  day-dreams 
we  scarcely  hope  to  see  fulfilled.  No  more  need  be  said 
of  this  matter  at  present ;  but  you  now  know  my  day- 
dream, and  may,  perhaps,  help  to  make  it  a  reality." 

After  an  interval  of  silence,  during  which  Hulmar 
seemed  absorbed  in  reflection,  Reva,  as  by  a  sudden  re- 
solve, rose,  and,  going  to  the  place  where  I  had  laid  down 
the  sprig  of  eglantine  that  had  already  done  such  service, 
took  up  this  now  somewhat  withered  emblem,  and  pre- 
sented it  to  me  in  silence.     I  looked  up  in  glad  surprise. 

"  You  would  really  like  a  turn  in  the  curricle?  " 

"I  must  see  lalma:  and  —  it  would  be  ungracious  on 
my  part,  it  would  even  surprise  her,  if  I  were  to  go  by 
myself." 

"  But,  I  assure  you,"  — I  began. 

"Yes,  I  understand.  But  1,  too,  realize  that  I  have 
entered  into  a  compact  that  should  not  be  one-sided.  I 
will  keep  you  waiting  but  a  short  time." 

With  these  words  she  tripped  into  the  house.  Her 
father  said  nothing,  but  I  could  see  he  was  pleased  with 
the  state  of  affairs.  I  made  haste  to  bring  round  my 
curricle  to  the  door,  where  Hulmar  joined  me  while  care- 
fully examining  the  vehicle  to  make  sure  of  its  being  in 
perfect  order. 

"  It  seems  but  yesterday,"  he  remarked  with  a  pleas- 
ant but  half  melancholy  smile,  "  since  I,  too,  was  anxiously 
surveying  the  machine  that,  for  the  first  time,  was  to 
carry  an   additional   burden,   light  but  precious.      As  I 


266  THE    DIOT/IAS;    OR,    A    FAR    LOOK    AHEAD. 

have  alread}'  said,  you  have  my  best  wishes  in  this  mat- 
ter. Que  somewhat  seliish  motive  I  adverted  to  a  short 
while  ago.  But  tliere  are  otliers.  I  knew  and  admired 
your  father ;  your  motlier  was  my  wife's  dearest  friend  ; 
and  I,  for  some  reason,  feel  strongly  drawn  toward  you. 
I  tlierefore  venture  to  advise  you  as  I  would  a  sou.  You 
have,  I  understand,  a  sister,  to  whom  you  are  much 
attached.  AVell,  my  advice  is,  that  you  behave  toward 
Reva,  meanwhile,  much  as  you  would  toward  that  beloved 
sister.  You,  I  can  easily  see,  are  deei)ly  in  love  with 
Eeva ;  but  she  as  yet  has  merely  a  liking  for  you.  You 
must  allow  this  liking  to  develop  into  a  stronger  feeling ; 
but  take  care  to  avoid  the  error,  common  in  such  cases, 
of  rendering  jour  presence  a  burden  \)y  too  obtrusive 
attentions." 

At  this  moment  P.eva  made  her  appearance  in  the  door- 
wa}'.  She  had  made  some  slight  changes  in  her  costume. 
In  one  hand  she  carried  one  of  those  graceful  hats  worn 
by  girls  when  going  in  the  sun.  In  the  other  she  held 
an  arrow-shaped  metallic  ornament,  the  use  of  which  I 
easily  divined,  having  frequently  seen  them  in  use.  With 
this,  under  her  direction,  her  father  fastened  the  coil  into 
which  she  gathered  her  beautiful  locks.  In  thus  per- 
forming the  office  usually  assigned  to  the  mother,  Hulmar 
was  but  acting  in  conformity  with  an  established  variation 
from  the  ordinary  procedure. 

"Now  I  am  read}-,"  she  said  gajiy,  after  rewarding 
her  father's  assistance  with  a  kiss, — assistance  in  which 
the  intention  was  better  than  the  performance  ;  for,  dur- 
ing the  ride,  the  beautiful  tresses  tumbled  down.  I  en- 
joyed the  privilege  of   replacing  the    fastening,   though 


A    CURRICLE-RIDE.  2G7 

without  receiving  any  such  recompense,  or  even  hinting 
at  it.  In  this  case  a  good  deed  was  indeed  its  own  sufR- 
cieut  reward.  The  fraternal  coolness,  moreover,  with 
which  I  rendered  this  slight  service,  went  far  to  promote 
that  feeling  of  camaraderie^  on  which  footing  I  saw  it 
was  safest  to  establish  our  relations,  for  the  present  at 
least. 

It  may  also  be  remarked,  that  in  a  country  so  densely 
peopled,  and  in  which  every  man  and  woman,  almost 
every  child,  had  an  ever-ready  vehicle  at  command,  rid- 
ing on  the  high-road  was  much  like  riding  in  one  of  our 
public  parks.  Thus  the  freedom  accorded  3'oung  people, 
in  regard  to  riding  about  in  each  other's  compan3%  was 
completely  in  accordance  with  the  wise  circumspection  that 
had  framed  the  etiquette  governing  their  mutual  relations. 
While  enjoying  every  opportunity  for  conversation  under 
the  most  favorable  circumstances,  they  were,  at  the  same 
time,  always  under  the  public  q^\q. 

Before  we  started,  it  had  been  arranged,  that,  instead 
of  proceeding  at  once  to  lalma,  Reva  should  pay  her  first 
visit  in  my  company  to  Semna  Diotha,  her  great-grand- 
mother. After  presenting  ourselves  there,  we  would  liave 
time  to  reach  the  house  of  Utis,  where  we  should  all  dine 
together.  Hulmar  undertook  to  send  the  necessaiy  warn- 
ing to  the  culinary  depot,  as  well  as  to  our  friends. 

"You  can  then  stay  over  niglit  with  lalma,"  he  con- 
cluded. "  There  are  many  things  in  regard  to  which  you 
will  need  to  consult  lalma." 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

HAPPY   HOURS. 

We  were  but  a  few  miles  on  our  way,  when  the  incident 
before  referred  to  took  place.  This  naturally  led  the  con- 
versation to  my  sister  Maud,  for  whom  I  once  had  per- 
formed a  similar  service.  The  theme  thus  started  proved 
of  such  interest,  that  we  found  ourselves  near  our  destina- 
tion almost  before  we  were  aware. 

"It  is  difficult  for  me  to  conceive  of  any  one  volunta- 
rily leading  such  a  life  as  that,"  said  Reva,  after  ob- 
taining from  me  a  detailed  account  of  the  education, 
amusements,  and  occupations  of  a  fashional)le  young  lady 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  "  To  live  in  enforced  idleness 
during  tiie  intervals  between  a  round  of  exciting  pleas- 
ures, with  no  stated  occupation  but  that  of  devising  and 
putting  on  a  costume  that  must  have  rendered  life  a  bur- 
den, seems  to  me  a  strange  perversion  of  gifts  and  oppor- 
tunities. As  you  tell  of  it,  it  sounds  like  an  elaborate 
device  for  stunting  b}'  disuse  every  power  of  mind  and 
body." 

She  kindled,  however,  with  admiration  towards  those 
nol)le  women  of  whom  I  told  her,  who  putting  aside  ease 
and  pleasure,  disregarding  even  social  prejudice,  devoted 
268 


BAPPY  HOURS.  269 

their  lives  to  lessening,  as  far  as  lay  in  their  power,  the 
frightful  mass  of  misery  by  which  they  found  themselves 
surrounded. 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed,  "there  were  some  things  in 
which  that  distant  past  excelled  the  present.  There  is 
no  longer  opportunity  for  heroism.  There  are  no  longer 
islands,  or  even  continents,  for  men  to  discover ;  nor  for 
women  are  there  fields  of  heroic  labor." 

"Would  you,  then,  have  ignorance  and  evil  exist,  in 
order  to  enjoj'  the  privilege  of  applying  a  remedy-?  " 

"  Now  you  are  laughing  at  me,  and  I  deserve  it.  But, 
to  return  to  what  we  were  talking  of  before,  how  did  j^our 
sister  Maud,  —  do  I  pronounce  it  correctly?  —  how  did 
she  l)ear  such  a  life  as  3"ou  are  describing?  Did  it  not 
break  her  health  and  spirits?  " 

"On  the  contrary,"  was  my  prompt  reply,  "she  and 
Edith"  — 

"Edith!"  exclaimed  Reva,  in  a  tone  of  evident  sur- 
prise and  interest.     "  Is  that  a  name,  — a  girl's  name?  " 

"Yes,  of  course  it  is  a  girl's  name;  but  where"  — 
At  this  moment  it  flashed  upon  me,  that,  in  mj'  surprise, 
I  had  uttered  the  name  just  before  Hulmar  joined  us. 

Reva,  seeing  me  hesitate,  replied  to  my  uncompleted 
interrogation  by  saying,  that  at  the  moment  when  I  seemed 
to  discover  in  her  some  resemblance,  unexpected  and  per- 
haps startling,  I  had  uttered  what  she  took  for  the  excla- 
mation Iclitha!  meaning.  It  is  she! 

"I  had  no  opportunity  then  of  inquiring  after  the 
meaning  of  the  exclamation,"  she  continued;  "but,  for 
a  special  reason,  I  did  intend  to  inquire." 

"There   are,  indeed,  special  reasons  why  you  should 


270  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

know  all  about  Edith  Alston,"  I  replied.  "But  I  must 
defer  the  matter  for  the  moment,  since  we  are  now  almost 
at  the  door." 

We  found  the  venerable  ladj'  to  whom  our  visit  was 
due  seated  on  the  southern  veranda.  This  not  only  com- 
manded a  magnificent  view  of  the  Hudson,  but  also  re- 
ceived the  full  benefit  of  the  evening  breeze,  that  began  to 
sweep  up  the  river  fresh  from  the  broad  Atlantic.  The 
sun,  too,  no  longer  shone  on  this  side  of  the  house,  but 
■was  distinctly  verging  toward  the  hills  whose  blue  outline 
was  visible  on  the  north-western  horizon.  Our  visit, 
therefore,  could  not  be  prolonged. 

The  old  lady  received  us  very  kindly,  but  made  no 
allusion  in  Reva's  presence  to  the  new  relation  in  which 
we  stood.  But,  Reva  being  sent  out  with  her  cousui 
Semna  to  view  some  floral  novelty  in  the  garden,  I  be- 
came the  recipient  of  some  sensible  and  kindly  meant 
advice,  not  unlike  that  which  I  had  received  from  Hulmar. 

"  Now,"  said  she,  as  the  guis  returned,  "  it  is  tune  for 
you  two  to  be  on  the  way.  It  is  much  more  pleasant, 
besides,  to  be  on  the  road  on  such  a  day  as  this  than  to 
be  sitting  still  anywhere." 

This  was  very  true.  In  spite  of  breeze  and  shade,  the 
heat  had  grown  oppressive.  But  when  speeding  over 
the  clear  stretches  of  the  road  at  a  rate  equalling  that  of 
the  Mary  Powell  at  her  best,  and  rarely  descending  below 
ten  miles  an  hour,  the  sensation  was  one  of  bracing  and 
exhilarating  coolness, 

"  We  found  time,  Ziemna  and  I,  to  take  a  better  look 
than  before  at  your  sister's  portiait,"  began  Reva,  soon 
after  we  were  on  the  road.     Ziemna,  it  ma^-  be  remarked, 


HAPPY  HOURS.  271 

is  a  familiar  dimumtive  for  Semna,  forniecl,  as  such  words 
reo"ularly  are  lu  that  tougue,  not  by  means  of  a  suffix,  but 
by  an  luternal  change  in  the  root, 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  Maud, — or  Madene,  if 
you  prefer  that  name?  " 

"  We  both  think  her  very  beautiful.  But  you  would 
never  imagine  what  a  strange  fancy  occurred  to  Ziemna." 

"May  I  know?" 

"You  will  thiiik  it  absurd.  She  was  looking  at  Ma- 
dene's  portrait,  comparing  it  with  yours  in  the  lizeo,  when 
the  strange  impression  came  to  her,  that,  though  there  is 
a  greater  resemblance  in  feature  between  you  and  your 
sister,  yet  the  expression  in  that  portrait,  a  dupHcate  of 
the  set  taken  by  lalma,  strongly  reminds  her  of  fleeting 
shades  of  expression  she  has  seen  pass  over  my  face  at 
times.  It  lasts  but  an  instant,  she  says,  but  none  the  less 
it  is  there." 

"  There  would  be  nothing  strange  in  that,  if  true,"  said 
I  lightly,  "seeing  that  we  come  of  the  same  stock.  But 
I  know  whom  you  resemble  in  many  ways,  not  vaguely 
and  at  odd  moments,  but  distmctly  and  always.  Not 
only  do  you  resemble  that  person,  Reva,  but,  strange  as 
it  may  sound,  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  you  are  that 
person." 

"  But  how  can  I  possibly  be  two  different  persons  at 
one  and  the  same  time  ? ' '  objected  Reva,  regarding  me 
with  an  air  of  mmgled  doubt  and  perplexity. 

"  No,  not  two  different  persons  at  one  and  the  same 
time,"  was  my  reply,  "  but  one  and  the  same  person  at 
widely  separated  epochs.  You  believe  in  the  doctrme  of 
the  varaiia?"     The  varana  was  the  name  by  which  they 


272  THE   niOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

designated  what,  among  us,  is  referred  to  as  the  metemp- 
sychosis. 

"1  do,"  she  replied,  beginning  to  see  whither  my  argu- 
ment tended. 

"According  to  that  doctrine,  as  I  understand  it,  of  the 
many  millions  of  souls  inhal)iting  human  bodies  at  the 
period  of  which  I  have  recollection,  are  not  tlie  immense 
majority  still  undergoing  i)robation  on  this  earth?" 

*'  Except  the  comparatively  few,  that,  having  attained 
the  ordained  standard  of  moral  perfection,  have  passed 
to  a  higher  sphere  of  existence,"  was  the  reply,  gravely, 
almost  reluctantly,  given.  The  problem  of  human  exist- 
ence was  to  these  people  a  real  and  serious,  though  not 
a  terrible,  question,  one  to  be  discussed,  if  at  all,  in  a 
spirit  of  earnest  reverence.  The  off-hand  flippancy  with 
which  some  among  us  will  attack  and  settle  the  most  im- 
portant of  questions  would  have  seemed  to  Reva  and  her 
contemporaries  perhaps  more  shockuig  than  the  grotesque 
antics  of  the  fetich-worshipper,  to  the  same  extent  that 
shallow  pretension  is  more  displeasing  than  earnest  igno- 
rance. 

"  Does  it,  then,  seem  at  all  improbable,"  said  I,  "  that 
a. spirit  endowed,  for  some  exceptional  reason,  with  the 
power  of  recalling  a  former  state  of  existence,  should 
also  have  the  power  of  recognizing  others  with  whom  it 
had  then  been  brought  into  contact  ? ' ' 

"I  feel  the  force  of  j'our  argument,"  replied  Reva, 
"  the  moi'e  so  because  we  believe,  that,  as  the  soul  pos- 
sesses a  strong  informing  power  upon  the  body  with 
which  it  is  clothed,  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  the  bod- 
ies successively  inhalVited  by  the  same  soul  should  have  a 
certain  similitude.     But  here  a  difficulty  presents  itself." 


HAPPY  HOURS.  273 

"What  is  that  difficulty?" 

"  Supposing  I  am  really  a  person  formerly  known  to 
you,  why  did  it  take  almost  a  week  for  you  to  recognize 
me  as  that  person  ?  ' ' 

"  You  have  just  suggested  the  explanation  yourself," 
exclaimed  I  triumphantly.  "  As  the  soul  progresses  and 
changes  in  the  course  of  its  long  probation,  so  must  the 
body  it  informs  change  also.  Supposing  you  had  not 
seen  Olav  during  the  past  ten  years,  do  you  think  you 
would  at  once  recognize  him,  especially  if  presenting  him- 
self amid  unexpected  surroundings?  " 

"I  suppose  not,"  replied  she,  after  a  pause.  "I  re- 
member his  once  returning  so  altered,  after  an  absence 
of  a  single  year,  that  I  scarcely  recognized  him." 

"•  What,  then,  is  your  conclusion?  "  I  hiquired. 

The  reply  was  so  long  in  coming,  that  I  almost  thought 
she  had  not  heard  the  question.  She  appeared  so  ab- 
sorbed in  thought,  however,  that  I  forbore  to  interrupt 
her  revery. 

"  I  feel  compelled  to  believe  that  it  is  as  3'ou  say,"  was 
the  reply,  —  "that  we  have  met  in  some  distant  past. 
This  1  believe,  not  only  for  the  reasons  you  have  ad- 
vanced, but  also  for  others  personal  to  myself.  Before 
you  ask  me,  however,  what  these  reasons  are,  let  me 
know  a  little  about  my  former  self.  Before  fully  acknowl- 
edging the  connection,"  continued  she,  dismissing  with  a 
merry  smile  the  gravity  produced  by  our  late  discourse, 
'^  I  would  fain  see  whether  it  is  one  to  be  proud  of,  or  the 
reverse. ' ' 

"Edith  Alston,"  exclaimed  I,  with  perhaps  unneces- 
sary warmth,  "  was  the  noblest,  as  she  was  the  fairest,  of 
her  sex!     I  always  thought  so,  now  1  know  it." 


274         THE  DIOTHAS;   OR,    A    FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

"  Pray  explain  how  mere  opinion  became  knowledge," 
said  lleva,  with  an  assumi)tion  of  mock  gravity  that 
strangely  reminded  me  of  her  former  self.  It  may  have 
been  this  that  prompted  me  to  answer  as  I  did. 

"  From  the  fact  that  she  has  changed  so  little,  I  natu- 
rally infer  there  was  little  to  change  for  the  better." 

"  That  certaiul}' sounds  conclusive,"  assented  Reva  in 
the  same  tone.  "  I  shall  be  proud  to  form  the  acquaint- 
ance of  such  a  paragon.  But,"  added  she,  with  a  mis- 
chievous light  in  her  eye  that  warned  me  I  was  about  to 
be  ivpaid  in  some  way  for  the  error  1  had  committed,  "  if 
I  remember  rightly  what  you  said,  your  own  personal  ap- 
pearance is  but  slightly  altered  from  then  ;  from  that  may 
we  justly  infer  that  you  also  "  — 

"You  ma}'  draw  what  inference  you  please,"  said  I, 
laughing.  "But  one  thing  I  have  no  need  to  infer,  but 
know  for  certain,  is,  that  Reva  Diotha  and  Edith  Alston 
agree  remavkabl}'  in  one  characteristic  at  least." 

"  What  you  say  merely  tantalizes  my  impatience  to 
hear  more  of  this  Edith,"  said  Reva,  evidently  enjoying 
her  little  skirmish.  "But  would  there  be  time?  We 
shall  soon  be  in  sight  of  the  house." 

"  No  :  the  time  is  too  short.  Besides,  I  think  it  would 
be  better  for  me  to  tell  this  story  to  you  and  your  father 
together.  Meantime,  it  would  perhaps  be  as  well  not  to 
refer  to  the  matter." 

Had  this  been  premeditated  by  me,  it  would  have  been 
a  most  subtle  stroke  of  strategy.  It  would  have  been 
impossible  to  devise  more  effectual  means  of  causing  her 
mind  to  dwell  upon  me.  Without  intending  it,  I  had  thus 
established  a  secret  between  me  and  her,  —  a  secret  that, 


HAPFY  HOURS.  275 

from  its  very  nature,  would  powerfully  exercise  her 
imagination. 

A  few  minutes  later  we  arrived  at  the  porch.  Though 
all,  probably,  must  have  obsei-ved  our  coming,  lalma  alone 
came  forth  to  meet  us  at  the  door.  After  saluting  Reva 
with  even  more  than  her  usual  sisterly  tenderness,  she 
laughingly  inquired,  turning  her  round  so  as  to  obtain  a 
fair  view  of  wliat  she  referred  to,  — 

"Who  can  have  arranged  your  hair  in  this  fashion? 
Your  father? —     Well,  we  have  about  time  to  "  — 

The  rest  was  lost  to  my  ears  as  they  entered  the  house, 
and  I  went  round  to  house  my  curricle.  Of  the  events 
of  the  evening  I  have  but  a  confused  recollection.  Reva 
came  down  with  her  hair  artistically  braided  by  the  deft 
fingers  of  lalma,  and  looking,  if  possible,  more  lovely  than 
ever.  No  allusion  was  made  to  what,  no  doubt,  was  the 
subject  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  each ;  but  all  seemed 
pleased  and  happy.  P^ven  Reva,  after  an  interval  during 
which  she  seemed  unable  entirely  to  rid  herself  of  the 
maidenly  self-consciousness  consequent  on  the  novelty  of 
her  position,  soon  caught  the  general  tone,  and  joined  ia 
the  conversation  with  her  usual  vivacity. 

After  dinner  she  herself  challenged  me  to  a  game  of 
chess  ;  compassionating,  no  doubt,  my  evident  inability 
to  so  collect  my  thoughts  as  to  give  coherent  replies  to 
the  most  ordinary'  questions.  In  the  first  game  I  was 
ignominiously  beaten.     Reva  laughed. 

"  You  see?  "  said  she,  pointing  to  the  chessboard. 

"  I  understand  the  reproof,"  said  I  penitently. 

"  You  made  me  promise  to  become  3-our  mpnitress  in 
behavior;  and  I  am  afraid,"  said  she,  shaking  her  beau- 
tiful head,  "  the  office  will  be  no  sinecure." 


276  THE    DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

"Rut  thoughts  will  wander  at  times,"  pleaded  I  in 
defence." 

"  IMan  should  be  master  of  his  mind,"  responded  she, 
quoting,  with  a  charming  assumption  of  gravity,  a  cele- 
brated poet  of  the  sixty-third  century.  "  That,  however, 
is  but  a  minor  offence.  But  you  really  ought  not  to  stare 
so  at  me,  as  3-ou  did  at  dinner,  and  as  you  have  been 
doing  now,  instead  of  studying  the  board." 

'"  But  what  induced  lalma  to  do  up  your  hair  in  that 
distracting  way?"  said  I,  assuming  as  fraternal  an  air  as 
possible.  "The  effect  is  very  good,  but  I  cannot  help 
trjMng  to  make  out  how  it  is  produced.  Could  I  once  be 
satisfied  on  that  point "  — 

The  absurdity  of  this  plea  tickled  Reva's  keen  souse  of 
humor.  She  laughed,  and,  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the 
thing,  said,  — 

"  If  that  will  suffice  to  effect  a  cure,  you  majMiow  study 
the  '  effect,'  as  you  call  it,  once  for  all." 

With  these  words,  she  turned  round  so  as  to  present 
to  view  the  back  of  her  head,  then,  at  my  request,  i)re- 
seuted  her  profile.  In  this  last  position  I  kept  her  as 
long  as  I  dared,  apparently  surveying  with  ciitical  eye 
the  artistically  arranged  locks,  but  likewise  taking  in  the 
details  of  the  Artemis-like  head,  the  delicately  outlined 
nose,  the  proud  lips  and  chin. 

"Well,  will  you  now  l)e  able  to  devote  3'our  whole  at- 
tention to  the  game?"  asked  she,  as  she  turned  toward 
me  a  countenance  as  captivating  to  the  heart  in  its  front 
view  as  the  goddess-like  profile  was  satisfying  to  the 
artistic  taste. 

"  I  think  the  safest  way  would  be  if  you  could  restore 


HAPPY  HOURS.  277 

your  locks  to  their  usual  fashion.  I  feel  sure  I  could 
then  play  a  good  game."  This  I  said  as  calmly  and 
deliljerately  as  if  nothing  more  were  in  question  than 
altering  the  position  of  a  picture  or  statuette.  I  was  also 
fully  aware,  that,  in  thus  affording  her  an  excuse  for  re- 
lieving her  locks  from  a  bondage  I  suspected  to  be  irk- 
some, I  should  be  really  doing  her  a  great  pleasure.  The 
correctness  of  my  surmise  was  proved  by  the  slight  demur 
with  which  she  acceded  to  a  demand  apparently  so  un- 
reasonable. 

1  watched  her,  —  it  seemed  a  physical  impossibility, 
indeed,  forme  to  keep  my  eyes  from  following  her, — I 
watched  her  lean  over  lalma,  who  sat  at  the  other  end  of 
the  apartment,  and  whisper  some  inquiry  or  request, 
lalma's  countenance  at  first  expressed  genuine  concern, 
but  brightened  up  immediately  after  some  explanation 
had  been  given.  With  some  laughnig  remark,  she  rose, 
and  followed  Reva.  During  their  short  absence  I  had 
time  to  reflect  on  the  course  it  behooved  me  to  pursue. 
This  next  game  I  must  win,  if  possible,  or  perhaps  lose 
ground  not  easy  to  recover. 

When,  therefore,  Reva  returned,  I  sat  down  before  my 
bewitching  antagonist,  as  wary  and  collected,  as  resolved 
on  victory  by  any  fair  means,  as  ever  I  had  before  a  vet- 
eran of  the  Philidor.  The  move  was  mme-  I  was  able, 
therefore,  to  avail  myself  of  an  opening  long  disused,  but 
abounding  with  pitfalls  for  the  unwaiy.  In  spite  of  a 
spirited,  even  brilliant,  defence  on  Reva's  part,  I  was  in 
position  at  the  twenty- third  move  to  announce  a  forced 
mate  in  two  more  moves. 

"  I  see  plainly  you  are  my  master  in  chess,"  was  her 


278  THE   DIOTUAS;    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

frank  acknowledgment  of  defeat.  "We  had  no  more  chess 
that  evening,  as  music  was  now  proposed.  In  subsequent 
games  1  still  maintained  a  decided  superiority,  though 
Keva  occasional!}'  gained  a  fairly  won  victory :  for  I 
made  it  a  principle  to  grant  no  favors ;  nor  would  it, 
indeed,  have  been  safe  so  to  do,  and  avoid  serious  offence. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


XnE    GUEST-CHAMBER. 


"When  TJtis  retired  with  me  to  my  quarters,  we  held  a 
long  conversation  in  regard  to  the  events  of  the  day, 
which  were  to  him  no  less  unexpected  and  pleasing  thau 
to  myself. 

' '  I  have  hitherto  belonged  to  those  who  regard  the 
doctrine  of  varana  rather  as  an  ingenious  113'pothesis,  un- 
proved, though  attractive,  than  as  a  matter  of  serious 
belief.  But  now,  I  must  confess,  it  affords  the  most 
plausible  explanation  of  some  points  in  your  case  that 
otherwise  are  utterly  bewildering.  For  you,  at  all  events, 
it  is  the  most  satisfactory  solution  of  your  perplexities ; 
and  so,  I  have  no  doubt,  it  will  prove  to  3'our  mother." 

"  Have  you  heard  from  her  lately?  "  inquired  I. 

"  Not  for  three  days  past,"  was  the  reply.  "  She  then, 
toward  the  end  of  a  conversation  in  which  she  expressed 
her  lively  satisfaction  arising  from  the  account  I  was 
enabled  to  send  in  regard  to  you,  announced  that  she 
had  completed  her  arrangements,  and  would  embark  next 
morning  for  Valparaiso,  the  first  stage  of  her  journey 
hither." 

"  How  long  will  the  voyage  take?" 

279 


280  THE   DWTIIAS,'   OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

"  Let  me  see,"  was  the  response,  as  lie  took  down  a 
chart:  '' the  distance  is  al)Out  forty-four  hundred  miles. 
That  can  easily  be  accomplished  in  four  days." 

"In  another  day,  then,"  said  I  eagerly,  "  I  shall  be 
able  to  communicate  with  her  and  my  sister?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  maybe  possible  to  communicate  with  them 
much  sooner  than  that,"  said  ho,  smiling  at  my  eagerness. 
The  fact  is,  that  hitherto  I  had  rather  dreaded  the  mo- 
ment when  I  should  be  obliged  to  enter  into  communica- 
tion with  these  relatives  of  the  Ismar  Thiusen  with  whom 
I  had  in  such  an  inexplicable  manner  become  identified. 
The  events  of  the  day,  however,  had  produced  an  entire 
revulsion  of  feeling.  I  now  earnestly  desired  what  before 
I  had  shrunk  from.  Meanwhile,  without  further  expla- 
nation, Utis  had  risen,  placed  himself  before  the  tele- 
phone, and  was  evidently  making  some  inquiry. 

"  I  have  made  inquiry  at  Valparaiso,"  he  explained, 
on  returning  to  the  veranda,  "  whether  the  electric  packet 
has  yet  reached  Ualdoth."  Here  he  proceeded  to  point 
out  to  me  on  the  chart  a  small  island  about  sixteen  hun- 
dred miles  west  of  Valparaiso.  He  had  begun  to  explain 
that  this  was  the  usual  stopping-place  for  the  packet  from 
INIaoria,  when  a  summons  called  him  to  the  telephone. 
After  the  exchange  of  a  few  words,  he  returned,  saying,  — 

"  We  are  almost  too  late :  the  packet  leaves  Ualdoth  in 
less  than  half  an  hour.  I  have  given  directions,  however, 
to  make  connection  with  the  ship,  and  to  inform  your 
mother.  You  will  probabh'  have  time  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  of  conversation,  unless  slie  has  retired  for  the  night. 
Tliat,  liowever,  is  unlikel}' ;  since  the  sun  sets  there  about 
two  hours  later  than  here." 


THE   GUEST-CHAMBER.  281 

We  had,  meanwhile,  taken  our  position  beside  the  in- 
strument. Scarcely  had  he  ceased  speaking  when  a  voice 
—  that  voice  associated  in  ni}'  mind  since  infancy  with  all 
that  is  tender  and  good  and  pure  —  came  vibrating  over 
the  far-extending  w^ires  from  that  distant  island  in  the 
Pacific.  The  tone  of  anxiet}'  I  could  read  in  those  dear, 
familiar  accents  thrilled  me  with  compunction  for  what 
now  seemed  my  selfish  neglect ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  I 
experienced  a  sort  of  mysterious  awe,  as  if  listening  to  a 
voice  from  beyond  the  grave.  Utis,  seeing  my  agitation, 
first  sent  a  few  words  of  preparation  and  explanation, 
then  withdrew. 

The  allotted  quarter  of  an  hour  flew  all  too  quickly. 
The  last  few  words  were  in  my  sister's  voice,  and  ceased 
abruptly  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence,  from  which  I,  and 
correctly  as  it  seems,  inferred  that  the  wires  had  been 
disconnected.  The  chief  reason,  indeed,  for  the  delay  of 
two  hours  at  Ualdoth  was,  as  Utis  explained,  to  enal)le 
passengers  to  communicate  with  their  friends  by  tele- 
phone. To  people  accustomed  to  almost  instantaneous 
communication  with  every  part  of  the  world,  a  three-days' 
interruption  of  intercourse  was  almost  as  serious  a  depri- 
vation as  to  us  would  be  a  separation  from  postal  facili- 
ties for  three  months.  Here  there  was  no  occasion  for 
the  passengers  to  leave  the  ship.  Connection  once  estab- 
lished with  the  submarine  cable,  intercourse  with  friends 
could  be  maintained  till  the  moment  when  it  became  ne- 
cessary to  disconnect,  on  the  vo3'age  being  resumed. 

The  four  early  working-hours  of  the  following  morn- 
ing were  devoted  by  my  host  and  me  to  the  various  labors 
necessary  for  the  maintenance  of  the  garden,  and  other 


2S2  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

surroundings  of  the  house,  in  their  customary  high  con- 
dition of  neatness.  On  my  expressing  some  sur[)rise  at 
the  comparative  absence  of  weeds,  Utis  exphiined,  — 

"  By  care  continued  through  long  ages,  mankind  have 
succeeded  in  extirpating  the  most  noxious  weeds.  Of 
that  you  have  seen  an  example  in  the  case  of  the  thistle. 
It  makes  an  enormous  difference  in  the  amount  of  labor 
requisite  for  cultivation." 

On  a  subsequent  occasion,  when  expressing  some  ap- 
prehension in  respect  to  the  probable  appearance  of  the 
mosquito  to  interfere  with  our  enjoyment  of  the  summer 
evenings,  he  had  been  somewhat  amused  at  the  idea.  It 
was  much  as  if  some  visitor  among  us  from  the  Orient 
should  take  it  for  granted  that  fleas  and  similar  insects 
are  as  naturally  to  be  expected  as  denizens  of  our  sleep- 
ing apartments,  as  they  are  in  those  of  his  native  land. 
The  appearance  of  mosquitoes  in  a  district  would  have 
been  regarded  as  reflecting  quite  as  great  discredit  on 
the  population,  as  would  among  us  the  appearance  of  the 
above-mentioned  denizens  in  a  house. 

"  AVe  regard  them  as  a  not  unuseful  little  pest,"  said 
he  ;  "  since  they  indicate  the  existence  of  some  undesir- 
able sanitary  conditions,  that  must  be  discovered  and  put 
an  end  to." 

On  descending  to  breakfast,  I  found  that  Eeva  had 
returned  home,  summoned  by  her  father,  who  announced 
the  reported  approach  of  a  great  storm  from  the  AVest. 

"I  wish  I  had  known  this  earlier,"  remarked  Utis. 
"  AVe  need  not  have  worked  quite  so  vigorously  as  we 
did,  seeing  that  we  have  a  day  of  vigorous  exertion  be- 
fore us." 


THE   GUEST-CHAMBER.  283 

It  was  even  so.  The  storm-signals  were  out,  and  every 
male  inhabitant  was  expected  to  turn  out  and  aid  in  sav- 
ing the  splendid  crop  of  wheat  with  which  the  district  was 
covered.  It  was  the  year  following  the  sheep-pasturing  ; 
and,  accordingly,  the  whole  land  was  under  wheat.  Duly 
instructed  by  Litis,  I  found  no  difficult}'  in  guiding  the 
machine  committed  to  m}'  care.  It  was,  in  fact,  as  easy 
to  manage  as  a  horse-rake.  All  that  day  we  labored, 
with  an  intermission  of  an  hour  in  the  midst  of  the  day. 
Little  was  heard  but  the  few  words  of  direction  from  the 
overseers  of  the  work,  and  the  sharp  click  of  the  ma- 
chines that,  following  in  due  order,  cut,  thrashed,  and 
winnowed  the  grain.  This,  without  being  bagged,  was 
conveyed  at  once  to  the  elevator.  Other  machines  cut  up 
the  straw  into  inch  lengths,  so  as  to  admit  of  its  being 
stowed  away  in  less  bulk,  it  being  a  valued  basis  for 
many  manufactures. 

Ere  darkness  came  on,  the  land  had  been  stripped  of 
its  golden  covering  as  by  magic  ;  and  all  returned  home, 
weary,  indeed,  but  conscious  of  having  performed  a  good 
day's  work.  Little  was  said  during  the  belated  meal, 
except  in  reference  to  the  approaching  storm,  of  whose 
violence  accounts  were  already  coming  in. 

"  It  is  fortunate,"  said  Utis,  "  that  the  ship  couA-eying 
j'our  mother  and  sister  is  not  in  its  track.  This  storm 
appears  to  have  suddenly  originated  in  the  North  Pacific, 
and,  from  what  Olav  states  of  its  ravages  in  the  neighbor- 
hood where  he  now  is,  must  be  of  unusual  violence." 

In  my  selfishness,  I  am  afraid  I  was  more  concerned  by 
the  obstacle  the  storm  opposed  to  my  paying  a  visit,  how- 
ever brief,  to  the  house  of  Hulmar  Edial.     Even  tele- 


284  THE  DFOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

phonic  communication  with  there  was  temporarily  cut  off. 
During  such  storms  as  that  now  approaching,  it  was  con- 
sidered safest  to  disconnect,  for  a  while,  all  the  wires 
entering  the  house. 

We  did  not,  after  all,  lie  in  the  direct  path  of  the  storm. 
A  few  miles  farther  north,  almost  every  tree  was  pros- 
trated throughout  the  district ;  while  we  escaped  with  com- 
paratively slight  damage,  though  the  storm  was  supposed 
to  be  the  severest  that  had  occurred  for  several  genera- 
tions. This  evening  is  signalized  in  my  memory,  however, 
chiefly  1)}'  a  peculiar  adventure  that  occurred  to  me. 

During  the  height  of  the  storm,  I  had  occasion  to  go 
to  ray  room  for  a  certain  book.  Just  as  I  closed  the 
door  to  return,  there  came  a  blinding  flash  of  lightning, 
followed  by  a  crash  of  thunder  that  seemed  to  make  the 
building  shake  to  its  foundation.  At  the  same  moment 
the  electric  light  that  illumined  the  corridor  gave  a  litful 
flash,  then  left  me  iu  total  darkness.  Confused,  I  took 
the  wrong  direction,  going  right  on  instead  of  to  the  left. 
Before  traversing  the  whole  corridor,  I  knew  I  had  made 
a  mistake. 

While  pausing,  trying  to  orient  myself,  by  the  flash  that 
seemed  to  issue  from  it  I  became  aware  of  a  halt -open 
door  just  facing  me.  I  entered.  B3'  looking  from  the 
window  I  might  gain  some  idea  of  where  I  was.  I  found 
myself  in  a  lofty  circular  apartment,  of  fair  size,  and 
lighted  by  a  round  window  in  the  midst  of  the  vaulted 
roof.  This  I  could  see  by  the  now  almost  incessant  glare 
of  lightning.  Ceiling,  floor,  and  walls  were  cased  iu 
marble.  Of  marble,  also,  were  the  rows  of  carved  con- 
soles that  occupied  the  walls  from  ceiling  to  floor.     On 


TEE   GUEST-CHAMBER.  285 

each  console  stood  an  urn  of  beautiful  but  severe  design. 
The  materials  were  various  :  many  were  of  marble  of  dif- 
ferent kinds,  the  majorit}'  of  some  transparent  material. 
As  the  thunder  rolled  above  my  head,  and  the  lightning- 
gleam  reflected  from  the  polished  surfaces  revealed  the 
medallions  cut  in  relief,  I  began  to  understand,  and  was 
filled  with  a  solemn  awe. 

With  some  difficulty  I  found  my  way  back  to  the  par- 
lor, where  Utis  had  just  succeeded  in  restoring  the  work- 
ing of  the  electric  light,  which  appeared  to  have  been 
paralyzed  in  some  way  by  the  action  of  the  storm.  "When 
the  ladies  had  retired,  I  told  Utis  of  what  I  had  seen. 
He  simply  remarked,  — 

"Though  that  is  called  the  'Guest-Chamber,'  I  ought 
not  to  have  left  you  to  stumble  on  it  by  yourself,  and 
that,  too,  under  such  peculiar  surroundings.  It  must 
have  been  left  open  b}-  some  chance  to-day. ' ' 

He  then  proceeded  to  explain  to  me  their  manner  of 
disposing  of  the  dead.  For  nearly  seventy  centuries 
cremation  had  been  practically  the  only  method  in  use, 
it  having  more  and  more  commended  itself  to  the  com- 
mon sense  of  mankind.  "  Instead  of  permitting  the 
remains  of  our  beloved  dead  to  return,  as  inevitably  they 
must,  sooner  or  later,  to  their  original  elements,  by  a  slow 
and  hideous  process,  we  restore  by  far  the  greater  part  to 
nature  by  the  rapid  action  of  fire,  the  type  of  purifying 
energy.  Instead  of  hiding  them  away  in  nooks  shunned 
by  all,  in  recesses  where  imagination  shuns  to  dwell,  we 
carefully  preserve  what  is  practically  indestructible  of  their 
frames  in  an  honored  place  in  the  homes  they  once  loved 
and  brightened.     As  3*00  must  have  carried  away  an  un- 


286  THE   DIOTUAS;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

favorable  impression  of  the  place  from  the  manner  of 
your  visit,  let  us  return  there." 

By  this  time  the  storm  had  ceased,  except  an  occa- 
sional subdued  rumble  in  the  distance.  He  led  the  way 
in  silence  to  the  marble  chamber,  and  turned  on  the  sub- 
dued radiance  of  an  electric  light. 

"Here,"  said  he,  "are  the  ashes  of  a  hundred  and 
twenty  generations.  We  call  it  the  '  Guest-Chamber  ; ' 
because  we  enter  the  house  as  the  guests  of  our  parents, 
and  finally  remain  here  as  the  guests  of  our  children. 

"  Each  of  these  urns  contains  all  that  remains  of  a 
family,  —  husband  and  wife,  and  unmarried  children. 
An  occasional  second  son  may  be  absent,  having  made 
himself  a  home  elsewhere  ;  and,  of  course,  all  the  married 
daughters  of  the  liouse,  who  repose  in  the  guest-chambers 
of  the  families  into  which  they  married." 

I  gazed  around  me  wfth  awe.  Never  had  human  ex- 
istence seemed  to  me  so  transitory.  Yet  here  the  aspect 
of  death  was  nothing  horrible,  but  something  inexpressibly 
solemn.  Near  the  centre  of  the  floor  stood  a  marble 
table.  Under  it  was  the  safe  in  which  were  preserved 
the  records  of  the  family,  and  those  i)orlraits  already 
referred  to.     On  the  table  lay  a  strongly  bound  volume. 

"  With  the  exception  of  the  last  three,"  continued  my 
host,  "  all  these  are  your  ancestors  as  well  as  mine. 
They  are  so  through  Osna  Diotha,  whose  father  belonged 
to  a  line  that  has  frequently  mtermarried  with  our  house." 

On  hearing  this  I  began  to  examine  the  portraits  on 
the  medallions  with  even  greater  mterest.  The  medal- 
lions each  contained  the  portrait  of  husband  and  wife, 
always  executed  during  life,  and  usually  soon  after  their 


THE   GUEST-CHAMBER.  287 

marriage.  Thus,  on  the  urn  that  litis,  according  to  cus- 
tom, had  provided  for  himself  some  years  before,  were 
exquisitely  cut  portraits  of  himself  and  Ulmene.  On 
the  reverse  were  deeply  cut  their  names,  the- dates  of  their 
respective  births,  that  of  their  marriage :  spaces  still 
vacant  were  destined  for  the  final  dates. 

"You  see,"  said  Utis,  pointing  with  a  grave  smile  to 
the  long  series  of  unoccupied  consoles,  about  half  the 
number,  "  there  is  yet  room  for  many  generations.  AVith 
the  ~  life-story  of  each  of  those  who  have  gone  before 
me,  I  am  fairly  familiar.  But  in  certain  moods  I  love  to 
sit  here  and  speculate  upon  the  character  and  history  of 
those  destined  to  fill  these  vacant  places.  Are  they  as  yet 
mere  nothings?  or,  as  the  adherents  of  the  varana  believe, 
are  they  already  on  earth,  working  through  their  long- 
endurmg  probation?  The  theory  has  charms,"  said  he 
thoughtful!}',  as  we  left  the  apartment;  "and  I  would 
fam  believe  it." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

ISMAR   SEES   AN   OLD   ACQUAINTANCE.    - 

The  usual  sequence  of  a  violent  storm,  the  following 
moruiug  was  all  that  could  be  desired,  combining,  as  it 
were,  the  charms  of  spring  and  summer.  The  change 
in  myself  from  the  grave  mood  of  the  preceding  night 
was  equally  marked.  My  heart  was  filled  with  an  un- 
wonted gladness  ;  s^H  seemed  colored  with  the  light  of  an 
undying  spring;  for — all-sufficient  reason  —  was  I  not 
again,  that  morning,  within  a  few  hours,  to  see  —  her? 
Utis  soon  perceived  and  understood  my  mood,  for  had  he 
not  also  been  in  Arcadia?  He  quietly  made  a  suggestion 
on  which  I  was  not  slow  to  act.  I  telephoned  an  inquiry'- 
to  Hulmar  whether  I  might  breakfast  with  him. 

"  Why  need  you  ask?  "  was  the  hearty  response.  "  I 
missed  you  greatly  last  evening ;  and  so  did,  I  think, 
some  one  else.     Be  punctual !  " 

I  very  narrowly  escaped  losing  a  finger  that  morning ; 
so  that  Utis,  who  had  observed  the  occurrence,  laughingly 
put  me  out  of  the  workshop. 

"  Bus}'  3-ourself   for  an  hour  or  two   in  the  garden," 
said  he.     "You  will  find  plenty  to  do  during  that  time. 
Then  get  ready  and  go.     You  are  not  safe  in  here." 
288 


rSMAR   SEES   AN   OLD   AC QUATNTANCE.  289 

Never  had  the  face  of  nature  seemed  to  me  so  lovely  as 
during  that  morning  ride.  The  very  fields  from  which 
their  golden  mantle  had  been  stripped  but  the  precednig 
day  already  showed  a  tender  green  among  the  short  stub- 
ble. The  multitudinous  voice  of  the  song-bird  was  out- 
vied by  the  singing  within  my  breast.  Yet  the  storm  of 
the  preceding  evening  had  not  passed  without  leaving 
traces.  The  active  zerdars,  under  whose  care  were  the 
roads,  had  already  swept  clear  the  tracks  with  their  ma- 
chines ;  but  the  broken  branches  piled  at  intervals  by  the 
wayside,  and  an  occasional  uprooted  tree,  alread}'  cut  into 
lengths,  gave  token  of  the  force  of  the  hurricane. 

"I  knew  it  was  j'ou  were  coming,"  said  Reva  with  a 
bright  smile,  when  I  made  my  appearance  at  the  break- 
fast-table in  company  with  her  father.  He  had  merely 
requested  her  to  have  breakfast  for  three.  I  was  satis- 
fied that  she  was  pleased  at  my  arrival,  and  hoped  that 
her  prevision  of  the  fact  arose  from  a  half -unconscious 
wish  that  it  might  be  so. 

The  meal  passed  in  comparative  silence.  I  was  pre- 
occupied with  what  I  had  come  prepared  to  say.  Reva, 
for  a  like  reason  probably,  was  unusually  distraite. 

"  Reva,"  said  her  father,  who  had  for  some  time  been 
observing  her  countenance  while  she  was  in  a  deep  rev- 
ery,  "  Ziemna  was  correct  in  her  remark.  Your  face  had 
just  now  an  expression  remarkably  similar  to  that  of 
Ismar.  I  should  hardly  have  deemed  it  possible  for 
countenances  so  dissimilar  in  feature  so  greatly  to  resem- 
ble each  other  in  expression.  It  must  arise  from  some 
common  ancestor  in  the  Diotha  line.  For  you,  Ismar," 
said  he,  addressing  me,  "  do  not  at  all  resemble  your 
father,  but  greatly  the  other  side  of  your  family." 


290         THE  DIOTHAS,    OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

This  remark  afforded  me  an  opening  of  wliich  I  at  once 
availed  myself.  AVhilo  I  spoke,  the  music  of  the  morn- 
ing concert  was  not  entirely  sliiit  off,  but  only  to  such  an 
extent  as  to  reach  us  in  suljdued  tones.  It  happened,  by 
a  strange  coincidence,  that  the  music  was  that  of  a  cele- 
brated drama  founded  on  the  story  of  Metis,  and  thus 
served  the  more  appropriately  as  a  background  to  my 
narration.  The  story  of  my  early  love  for,  engagement 
to,  and  breach  with,  Edith  Alston,  was  listened  to  with 
absorbed  attention.  This  was  especially  the  case  with 
Reva,  to  whom  the  story,  now  looked  forward  to  for  so 
many  hours,  was  of  special  personal  interest.  Was  not 
this  the  Edith  upon  whose  personality  her  imagination 
had  been  dwelling  since  that  eventful  occasion?  As  I 
went  on  to  tell  of  the  strange  attraction  exercised  on  me, 
from  the  first,  by  Reva's  face,  voice,  and  manner,  of  my 
distinct  recognition  of  her,  at  last,  as  the  exact  counter- 
part of  the  Edith  of  my  story,  Hulmar,  too,  beginniug  to 
see  whither  all  this  tended,  followed  me  with  eager, 
almost  excited  attention.  I  could  well  see  that  he  was 
of  my  opinion  when  I  finally  stated  my  firm  persuasion 
of  the  identity  of  the  Reva  of  the  present  with  the 
Edith  of  so  long  ago. 

"I  am  convinced,"  was  his  comment,  when  I  had 
ended ;  "  and  you,  Reva?  " 

'•  I,  too,  am  convinced,"  was  Reva's  reply,  uttered  in  a 
tone  barely  audible,  almost  as  if  speaking  to  herself.  She 
then  rose,  as  if  about  to  leave  us  :  it  was  time  for  her  to 
go.  But  taking  her  stand  beside  her  father,  with  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  a  favorite  attitude  with  her  in 
moments  of  confidence,  she  went  on,  "I  must  now  tell 


ISMAR  SEES  AN   OLD   ACQUAINTANCE.  291 

what  I  have  been  trying  to  tell  you  since  it  occurred.  At 
that  moment  when  Ismar  seemed  to  experience  some  start- 
ling recognition  in  regard  to  me,  I,  too,  felt  a  strange  con- 
viction come  over  me,  that  we  had  met  in  some  far-distant 
past,  and  had  enacted  an  almost  similar  scene.  I  thought 
at  the  moment  it  must  be  " —  Here  she  hesitated,  did 
not  complete  her  sentence,  and  saying,  "  It  is  full  time 
for  me  to  leave,"  within  a  minute  could  be  seen  career- 
ing down  the  road. 

Mindful  of  our  agreement,  I  had  made  no  offer  to 
accompany  her,  having  received  no  sign  to  that  effect. 
It  seemed  to  me  also  not  at  all  unlikely  that  she  should 
desire  some  leisure  for  reflection  upon  what  she  had  heard. 
Nor  was  my  self-restraint  unrewarded.  After  a  good 
morning's  work,  Hulmar  and  I  were,  in  due  time,  sum- 
moned to  the  dining-room.  With  inexpressible  satisfac- 
tion, I  marked  a  sprig  of  eglantine  in  the  bouquet  before 
my  place. 

She  desired  to  be  taken  to  see  lalma.  It  may  be  ima- 
gined that  I  did  not  take  the  shortest  route  thither,  nor  was 
there  any  protest  on  the  part  of  Reva  against  this  undue 
lengthening  of  the  wa}'.  Her  attention  was  probal)ly  too 
pre-occupied  for  her  to  observe  which  way  we  were  taking. 
She  wanted  to  hear  again  all  about  Edith,  and  found  ques- 
tion after  question  to  put  in  regard  to  her.  Having  once 
for  all  accepted  the  belief  that  Edith  was  her  former  self,  • 
it  may  easily  be  imagined  how  interesting  to  her  was  every 
detail  I  could  impart.  Much  as  I  had  lengthened  our 
route,  she  seemed  greatly  surprised  when  we  had  reached 
our  destination. 

"  How  quickly  we  have  come!  It  seems  .as  if  I  had 
dozens  of  questions  yet." 


292  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

She  laughiugly  rejected,  however,  my  offer  to  turn  back, 
so  as  to  afford  time  for  those  remaining  dozens  of  ques- 
tions. This  was  but  the  first  of  a  series  of  similar  delight- 
ful excursions.  The  conversation  was  not  always  on  the 
same  topic,  yet  was  most  frequently  suggested  b}'  some 
new  question  that  had  occurred  to  her  since  our  previous 
meeting.  Round  Edith  Alston  and  the  former  Ismar,  as 
centres,  Reva  learned  to  group  the  varied  panorama  of  the 
social  fabric  of  the  nineteenth  centur}'^,  —  so  far,  that  is, 
as  was  suitable  for  her  to  hear,  and  me  to  tell.  P'or  her 
unsullied  mind,  even  that  vague  impression  —  the  shadow 
cast  by  certain  forms  of  evil  —  was  non-existent.  Exten- 
sive as  was  her  reading,  her  ignorance  of  the  lonna  char- 
acter had  preserved  her  from  even  a  suspicion  of  the 
darkest  side  of  human  history. 

Nor  was  the  instruction  by  any  means  one-sided.  I, 
too,  had  much  to  learn,  —  much  of  great  practical  impor- 
tance in  my  new  surroundings.  In  Reva  1  found  an  effi- 
cient informant  on  all  suitable  subjects.  Much  that  I  could 
have  learned  from  Utis  or  Hulmar,  I  preferred  to  learn 
through  Reva ;  it  was  so  delightful  for  me  thus  to  learn, 
and  —  as  she  told  me  with  charming  ingenuousness  —  for 
her  to  teach.  What  she  did  not  know  when  asked,  she 
took  care,  therefore,  to  learn  from  her  father,  who  laugh- 
ingly compared  her  to  a  sister  giving  instruction  to  a 
younger  brother,  and  receiving  most  benefit  herself  from 
the  task.  Though,  meanwhile,  not  a  word  was  uttered 
by  me  that  she  could  hesitate  to  repeat  to  her  father,  with 
whom,  I  knew,  she  was  wont  to  rediscuss  the  topics  dis- 
cussed l)y  us  during  our  ride  ;  though  I  never  so  much  as 
touched  her  hand,  except  in  the  customary  courtesy  of 


ISMAR  SEES  AN   OLD   ACQUAINTANCE.  293 

assisting  her  to  mount  into  or  alight  from  the  curricle,  —  I 
felt  that  my  suit  was  progressing  favorably  ;  that,  uncon- 
sciously to  herself,  the  clear  girl  was  beginning  to  find  a 
pleasure  in  my  societ}'  such  as  she  had  not  found,  even  ia 
that  of  the  brother  she  loved  so  well.  1  was  well  content 
to  let  matters  run  their  course,  knowing  that  nothing  was 
to  be  gained  by  precipitancy. 

I  have  dwelt  too  long  and  too  fondly,  perhaps,  on  this 
chapter  of  my  experiences.  In  the  estimation  of  man}^, 
my  time  would  have  been  better  spent  in  giving  some 
account  of  the  legislative  and  judicial  system  of  that 
period,  than  in  entering  into  so  many  details  regarding  a 
single  individual,  no  matter  how  charmmg  and  accom- 
plished. If  I  have  erred  in  this  respect,  I  can  plead  illus- 
trious example.  I  am  not  the  first,  as  I  shall  not  be  the 
last,  for  whom  the  splendor  of  a  pair  of  bright  eyes  has 
outdazzled  all  a  universe  besides. 

A  more  serious  reason  for  this  abstinence  is  founded  on 
the  following  considerations.  No  system  of  government 
works  well  beyond  the  extent  to  which  it  represents  the 
average  moral  and  intellectual  status  of  the  governed. 
Laws  not  originating  in  the  wants,  and  corresponding  to 
the  intelligent  conviction,  of  those  legislated  for,  are  gen- 
erally worse  than  useless.  Enforced  not  at  all,  or  only  in 
show,  they  serve  only  to  grant  a  monopoly  of  certain  acts 
to  the  unscrupulous.  Now,  the  system  of  government  pre- 
vailing among  the  contemporaries  of  Utis  and  Hulmar 
presupposed  a  general  moral  and  intellectual  status  sur- 
passing that  now  prevailing,  to  an  even  greater  degree 
than  their  knowledge  and  control  of  the  forces  of  nature 
surpassed  ours.     The  great  fault  with  many  of  our  present 


294  THE   DJOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

institutions  is,  that  they  pre-suppose  an  average  citizen 
much  superior  in  intelligence  and  public  sprint  to  the  really 
existing  average  citizen.  The  machine  is  too  fine  for  its 
work.  Too  man}?^  of  our  laws  seem  to  l)e  the  work  of  well- 
meaning  phrasolators,  Avho  waste  much  ingenuity  in  fram- 
ing laws  that  will  enforce  themselves.  These  are  the 
devices  of  perpetual-motion  cranks.  Others,  again,  are 
the  work  of  knaves,  who  throw  a  sop  to  an  indignant  public 
in  an  enactment  they  are  well  aware  will  prove  worthless 
before  the  ingenuity  of  quibljling  law3-ers  and  time-serving 
judges.     These  are  the  devices  of  traitors. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  we  made  an  excursion  to  the 
Winter  Garden,  of  which  I  had  previously  taken  only  a 
cursory  view.  While  going  through  the  extensive  palm- 
house,  which  covered  several  acres,  we  came  to  a  com- 
paratively open  space.  In  the  midst  stood,  raised  on  a 
suitable  base,  a  mutilated,  weathered  fragment  of  reddish 
granite.  The  material,  the  shape,  and  especially  the 
aliuost  obliterated  hieroglyphics,  roused  in  me  a  vague 
suspicion.  On  inquiry,  I  found  that  this  fragment  — 
about  one-third  of  the  lower  part  —  was  indeed  all  that 
remained  of  the  famous  monolith  whose  third  erection  I 
myself  had  witnessed.  I  was  strangely  affected.  I  could 
not  refrain  from  passing  ray  hands  over  the  very  hiero- 
glyphics I  had  examined  with  so  much  curiosity  so  man)', 
many  years  ago.  Then  I  had  regarded  it  with  awe  as  a 
venerable  stranger,  a  survival  from  the  time  when  history 
was  not.  Now  I  greeted  this,  the  only  stone  remaining 
from  the  New  York  of  so  long  ago,  the  sole  surviving 
object  upon  which  certain  eyes  had  once  rested,  —  I 
greeted  it,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  an  old  familiar  friend. 


ISMAR  SEES  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE.  295 

To  Hulmar  and  Reva,  when  I  explained  to  them  whose 
bright  eyes  had  once  looked  on  this  strange-looking  bird, 
whose  soft  hands  had  examined  its  outline,  the  fragment 
was  no  longer  of  merely  historical  interest.  To  them, 
listening  to  my  account,  it  was  much  as  if  some  one  could 
tell  us  at  the  present  day  of  having  witnessed  the  erection 
of  this  same  monolith  on  its  original  site,  except  that  the 
date  was  twice  as  remote. 

Reva,  having  first  passed  her  hands,  too,  over  that 
place,  went  away  to  rejoin  some  companions.  Hulmar, 
seated  on  the  lower  base  of  the  pedestal,  narrated  to  me 
the  story  of  the  obelisk  after  my  times. 

"The  government  of  Nuiorc,"  he  began,  "as  organ- 
ized at  the  period  when  this  stone  crossed  the  ocean,  was 
most  peculiar.  Its  utter  want  of  sense,  and  knowledge  of 
human  nature  as  then  existent,  is  so  evident,  that  the 
intention  of  its  originators  became  an  enigma  to  succeed- 
ing generations.  The  most  plausible  explanation,  how- 
ever, is,  that  they  had  no  intentions,  if  by  that  we  mean 
settled  principles  of  action.  A  set  of  incompetent  bun- 
glers had  drifted  into  a  position  in  which  they  were  able 
to  do  much  mischief,  and  did  it.  Tlie  result  may  be 
summed  up  in  a  few  words.  The  revenues  of  one  of  the 
wealtliiest  cities  of  the  world  were  surrendered  as  a  prey 
to  tlie  organized  offscourings  of  Europe. 

"The  direct  contributors  to  the  revenues  were  made  a 
powerless  minority :  tlie  tax-spending  majority  were 
reckless  in  lavisliing  what  seemed  to  cost  them  nothing. 
Tlie  regime  of  aldermen,  as  the  representatives  of  the 
proletariat  were  called,  became  too  onerous,  at  last,  for 
even  the  revenues  of  Nuiorc  to  sustain.     The  city  became 


29G         THE  DIOTIIAS;  OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

bankrupt.  The  city  rulers  would  fain  have  imitated  the 
course  of  certain  States  of  tliat  period,  whose  only  use  of 
a  fictitious  sovereignty  was  to  commit  rascally  actions 
with  apparent  impunity.  The  city  fathers  soon  found, 
however,  that  the  city  they  dishonored  did  not  possess 
this  doubtful  privilege.  The  revenues  passed  under  the 
control  of  receivers.  The  docks,  and  large  slices  of  the 
public  parks,  were  sold  to  the  highest  bidder.  From 
being  the  worst,  Nuiorc  became  the  best-governed,  city  in 
Christendom  ;  for  the  police  no  longer  granted  favors  to 
ruffians  on  the  ground  of  their  being  heelers  of  Mike  This 
or  Pat  That. 

"  The  city  fathers,  cut  off  from  their  former  browsing- 
grounds,  began,  on  one  pretext  or  another,  to  nibble 
away  what  remained  of  Central  Park,  A  prosperous 
Western  city  made  a  fair  bid  for  the  obelisk.  The  offer 
for  what  they  called  '■•the  owld  sthone  "  was  accepted 
with  alacrity.  But  their  innate  love  of  jobbery  must  find 
vent,  even  in  the  execution  of  this  little  scheme  for  dispos- 
ing of  what  was  not  theu's  to  dispose  of.  The  job  was 
intrusted  to  a  contractor  willing  to  share  with  certain  of 
the  committee.  He  was,  as  might  be  expected,  a  bun- 
gler ;  the  obelisk,  allowed  to  fall,  broke  in  three  pieces. 
The  Western  city  refused  to  accept  the  pieces,  which  lay 
where  they  had  fallen.  Tiie  upper  pieces  were  finally 
broken  up  l)y  a  thrifty  contractor  as  macadamizing 
material.  This  piece  would  have  shared  the  same  fate, 
had  not  the  board  of  aldermen,  about  that  time,  been 
legislated  out  of  existence  as  an  antiquated  nuisance. 
Under  the  new  city  government,  this  fragment  was  re- 
erected  on  its  former  emplacement,  with  an  inscription 


ISMAR  SEES  AN  OLD   ACQUAINTANCE.  297 

to  the  memory  of  the  public-spirited  citizen  who  had 
presented  it  to  tlie  city.  Finally  it  was  placed  here 
under  cover,  to  preserve  it  from  further  injury  from  the 
weather." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

BOSTON. 

The  just-related  episode  in  the  history  of  New  York 
contahis  nothing  to  surprise  an  observant  mind  accus- 
tomed to  note  the  present  tendency  of  things  in  that  city. 
But  that  Boston,  the  liberal,  the  cultured,  the  nursing 
mother  of  American  literature,  —  tha,t  Boston  should  be- 
come the  focus  of  Romanism,  not  for  America  only,  but 
for  the  world,  —  should,  in  fine,  become  associated  in  the 
minds  of  men  with  all  now  associated  with  the  name  of 
Rome,  will,  no  doubt,  overwhelm  others  with  the  same  in- 
credulous astonishment  the  story  at  first  evoked  in  me. 
But  so  it  was.  Driven  from  Italy,  the  Papacy  found  a 
welcome  and  a  refuge  in  New  England.  Boston  became, 
and  remained  during  long  ages,  the  chosen  seat  of  that 
church  of  which  its  founders  had  a  special  abhorrence. 
Yet  history  shows  mutations  quite  as  strange.  What 
similitude  can  be  found  between  the  Rome  of  Scipio  and 
the  Rome  of  Leo  X.  ?  How  utterly  dissimilar  the  ideas 
evoked  by  that  one  name  at  these  different  epochs ! 
After  all,  how  comparatively  slight  the  change  in  the  case 
of  Boston  ! 

The  strange  mutation  was  rendered  possible,  in  both 
298 


BOSTON.  299 

cases,  by  similar  causes.  In  accordance  witli  the  same 
economic  law  by  which  the  baser  coin  drives  out  the 
better,  a  lower  class  of  labor  drives  out  a  superior.  Tlius 
the  free  population  of  Italy  disap[)eared  before  the  hordes 
of  imported  slaves,  the  superior  population  of  New  Eng- 
land before  the  crowds  of  imported  laborers  of  an  inferior 
class.  In  all  probability.  Papacy  could  not  have  devel- 
oped amid  the  original  population  of  free  Italy  ;  it  cer- 
tainly could  never  have  gained  a  foot-hold  amid  the 
original  white  population  of  New  England. 

All  this,  and  more,  I  learned  during  an  excursion,  in 
Hulmar's  company,  to  Thiveat  (corrupted  from  Civitas 
Beata),  the  later  name  of  Boston.  The  journey  there 
and  back  occupied,  in  all,  about  five  hours.  The  city 
itself  was  as  changed  in  appearance  as  in  name.  The 
old  familiar  landmarks  had  disappeared.  The  bay,  the 
islands,  the  general  outline  of  the  shore,  were  still  re- 
cognizable ;  but  all  else  was  strange. 

We  had  taken  our  stand  upon  one  of  the  remaining 
towers  of  the  cathedral,  a  once  magnificent  structure, 
erected  on  the  site  now  occupied  by  the  iState  House. 
Planned  to  surpass  St.  Peter's,  and  requiring  for  its  com- 
pletion a  whole  century  of  energetic  effort  and  unstinted 
outlay,  it  had  been  justly  regarded  as  one  of  the  architec- 
tural wonders  of  the  world.  Now  it  was  mostly  crumbled 
into  ruin.  The  great  tower,  constructed  of  masses  of 
granite  rivalling  in  size  those  raised  by  the  builders  of 
Egypt,  had  alone  resisted  the  storms  of  seventy  centuries. 
Rising  in  solitaiy  grandeur  amid  the  ruins  of  its  humbler 
dependencies,  it  seemed  destined  to  rival  the  pyramids  in 
duration.     Like   them,  it  had  already  outlived  the  very 


300  THE   DWTn.iS ;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

memory  of  the  faith  that  had  moved  these  masses  into 
position  :  vanished  like  their  own  names  was  the  spiritual 
domination  that  the  builders  had  fondly  imagined  would 
outlast  the  granite. 

From  this  lofty  position  m}*  companion  was  able  to 
point  out  to  me  the  ruins  of  the  dungeon-like  walls  of 
the  Palace  of  the  Inquisition  on  Governor's  Island  :  the 
whole  surface  was  so  covered  with  ruined  masonry,  that  it 
had  never  been  thought  worth  while  to  clear  it  away.  On 
Deer  Island,  a  massive  arch  alone  marked  the  site  of  what 
had  once  been  a  famous  monastery.  On  Bunker's  Hill 
rose  a  slender  monolith  of  granite,  on  the  summit  of 
which  I  could  still  distinguish,  through  mj'  instrument, 
the  remains  of  what  had  been  a  statue,  now  crumbled 
down  to  little  more  than  the  feet.  This  I  naturally  sup- 
posed must  have  taken  the  place  of  the  pillar  once  raised 
to  mark  the  spot 

"  Wliere  Putnam  fought,  where  Warren  fell, 
Where  drank  the  soil  our  heroes'  blood." 

But  no  such  motives  had  prompted  the  erection  of  this 
graceful  column.  The  church  had  regarded  as  little  less 
than  sinful  the  appropriation  of  such  a  site  to  the  memory 
of  uncanonized  men,  who  had  fallen,  too,  in  a  struggle 
that  approached  perilously  near  the  confines  of  that  rebel- 
lion which  she  taught  was  "  as  the  sin  of  witchcraft."  A 
monolith  surmounted  by  a  statue  in  honor  of  the  dogma 
of  the  Immaculate  Conception  had,  accordingly,  taken 
the  place  of  the  pillar  consecrated  by  the  eloquence  of 
Webster. 

I   certainly  am    not   conscious   of   any  special   ill  will 


BOSTON.  801 

against  the  adherents  or  the  rites  of  that  '^  gorgeous  su- 
perstition," however  much  some  of  its  tenets  may  repel 
my  understanding.  In  certain  moods,  indeed,  its  splendid 
ritual  exercises  on  my  mind  no  sliglit  attraction.  But  I 
must  acknowledge  feeling  extremely  angry  on  hearing  of 
this  substitution.  Reading,  and  no  doubt  sympathizing 
with,  my  feelings  of  indignation,  Hulmar  went  on  quietl}' 
to  say, — 

"Time,  however,  has  reversed  their  decree.  Few,  ex- 
cept antiquaries  like  m3'self,  have  so  much  as  heard  of 
that  dogma.  But  what  happened  on  that  hillside  is  fresh 
in  the  memory  of  every  school-child  on  this  continent." 

He  next  pointed  out  to  me  a  broad  plaza,  surrounded  b}' 
an  apparently  well-preserved  colonnade.  In  the  midst  a 
fountain  of  magnificent  proportions  tossed  on  high  its 
waters,  sparkling  in  the  rays  of  the  summer  sun.  All  this 
had  formed  an  appurtenance  to  the  papal  palace,  now  en- 
tirely- vanished,  except  a  small  portion  converted  into  a 
museum  and  librar}-.  Now  restored  to  good-humor  by 
these  signal  examples  of  "Time's  revenges,"  I  turned 
to  where,  embosomed  amid  secular  groves  that  permitted 
but  glimpses  of  the  stately  structure,  stood  the  buildings 
of  the  University.  This,  however,  was  not  the  immediate 
successor,  though  it  w\as  the  worthy  representative,  of  the 
"Fair  Harvard"  of  the  nineteenth  centur3\  There  had 
been  an  interregnum  of  many  centuries.  During  the 
reign  of  the  church.  Harvard  had  been  converted  into  a 
Jesuit  college,  the  centre  of  the  order,  the  chief  training- 
school  of  its  members.  Owing  to  the  appropriation  of 
the  education  fund  to  other,  especiall}^  l)uilding,  purposes, 
by  the  church  during  this  period,  secular  education   fell 


302  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

to  a,  very  low  ebb  indeed.  Instead  of  jokes  in  reference 
to  his  excessive  devotion  to  the  goddess  "  culchaw,"  the 
Bostonia.n  was  liable  to  be  twitted  with  a  worship  of  a 
very  different  kind. 

On  our  way  home,  Hulmar  recounted  to  me  the  steps  in 
the  political  and  intellectual  decadence  of  New  England. 
These  were,  the  accession  to  political  supremacy  of  an 
ignorant  and  superstitious  foreign  element ;  the  acceler- 
ated emigration  of  the  original  stock  ;  the  establishment  of 
a  State  church,  in  fact  though  not  in  name,  by  improving 
on  the  example  of  the  Mormon  church;  decisions  by 
obsequious  courts  that  placed  the  education  fund  prac- 
tically under  the  control  of  the  priesthood  ;  the  removal  of 
the  seat  of  the  Papacy  to  Boston  ;  attainment,  by  the 
Jesuits,  of  a  controlling  power  in  many  States,  by  adroit 
manipulation  of  parties  ;  rapid  decline  and  ultimate  ex- 
tinction of  the  Papacy,  after  its  alliance  with  the  invaders 
during  the  "  Great  Invasion." 

"  You  have  really-  worked  hard  at  that  lecture  of 
3^ours,"  said  her  father  to  Reva,  a  few  days  after  our  ex- 
cursion to  Boston.  "  Let  us  celebrate  its  completion  ])y 
a  water-excursion,  and  pay  that  long-deferred  visit  to 
your  vmcle  Asian." 

Instead  of  our  usual  forenoon  work,  we  accordingly  set 
off  soon  after  breakfast  for  Piescil  (Peekskill).  We 
found  in  readiness  the  boat  engaged  by  telephone  before 
we  left  home.  This,  to  me,  odd-looking  conveyance  con- 
sisted of  two  boats  connected  by  a  i)latform  with  low 
bulwarks.-  The  motive-power  was,  of  course,  electricity. 
The  machinery  I  had  no  opj)ortunity  of  inspecting,  it  be- 
ing entirely  out  of  sight :  it  propelled  us,  however,  through 


BOSTON.  303 

the  water  at  the  rate  of  twelve  miles  an  hour.  Instead 
of  the  uncomfortable  benches  of  our  present  boats,  there 
were  neatly  upholstered  chairs.  Each  chair  was  provided 
with  an  adjustable  awning,  and  turned  freely  on  a  pivot 
Ui  tiie  deck.  The  steering  and  control  of  the  motive- 
power  were  effected  by  means  of  a  simple  apparatus 
similar  to  the  tiller  of  a  curricle. 

Hulmar  managed  the  craft,  while  Reva  and  I  imparted 
to  each  other  our  knowledge  in  respect  to  the  various 
points  of  interest  as  we  passed  them.  To  me,  with  the 
exception  of  the  river  and  the  outlines  of  the  hills,  some 
peculiar  change  seemed  to  have  passed  over  every  thing. 
Not  only  were  there  villages  where  now  there  is  naught 
but  rock  and  shaggy  wood  :  the  very  hills  were  cultivated 
to  their  summits.  In  the  steepest  spots  were  what  seemed 
to  be  vineyards  or  orchards.  To  me  it  sounded  like  a 
joke  to  find  myself  obliged  to  ask  the  names  of  those 
villages  that  appeared  to  have  sprung  \\\^  in  a  night  on 
the  bank  of  the  stream  so  familiar  from  boyhood. 

Reva,  again,  could  not  get  over  her  surprise  at  finding 
me  better  acquainted  with  tho  river,  in  certain  respects, 
than  herself,  able  to  anticipate  and  recognize  everj^  reach 
and  headland.  She  laughed  at  her  own  attemi)ts  to  pro- 
nounce after  me  the  ancient  names,  that  sounded  so  un- 
couth to  her  ears. 

"  How  lavish  of  breath  you  must  have  been  in  those  old 
times!  "  lauglied  she,  after  several  vain  attempts  to  pro- 
nounce after  me  the  name  ''  West  Point,"  with  its  super- 
abundance of  consonants.  I  was  obliged  to  admit  that 
"  Uespa  "  was  both  easier  to  pronounce  and  more  pleasing 
to  the  ear.     We  halted    at   Uespa   for   about   an   hour. 


304  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

Hiilmar,  who  was  somewhat  of  an  antiquarian,  wished  to 
avail  himself  of  my  knowledge  in  regard  to  the  position 
of  the  forts.  Uespa  was  still  the  seat  of  a  great  school 
of  civil  engineering ;  but,  of  course,  ever}'  vestige,  and 
almost  the  remembrance,  of  its  former  warlike  purposes 
had  disappeared.  Hulfnar  was  pleased  to  find  that  my 
recollections  coincided,  upon  the  whole,  with  his  labori- 
ously drawn  inferences. 

While  he  left  us  to  make  a  short  call  on  a  professor, 
Reva  and  I  awaited  his  return  on  a  spot  where  the  beauty 
of  the  view  has  probably  in  nil  ages  caused  a  seat  to  be 
placed.  Things  being  viewed  from  a  distance,  the  pros- 
pect up  the  river  towards  Newburg,  and  that  city  itself, 
seemed  almost  unaltered. 

Our  talk  was  of  many  things.  We  talked  of  the  cadets 
and  their  ways,  in  regard  to  whom  Reva  found  much  to 
inquire.  Next  the  talk  drifted  to  the  many  biave  men  to 
whom  this  scene  had  once  been  familiar,  whose  last  view 
of  earth  had  been  amid  the  thunder  and  tumult  of  battle. 
Then  Reva  begged  once  more  to  hear  that  account  of  the 
departure  of  my  uncle  Thaddeus  at  the  head  of  his  regi- 
ment. She  seemed  most  affected  by  that  final  scene  of 
the  women  falling  weeping  into  each  other's  arms.  She 
sat  silent  for  a  while,  looking  at  the  ground  before  her, 
then  murmured,  as  if  speaking  to  herself, — 

"  It  was  indeed  hard  to  bear.  She  must  have  loved 
him  dearly." 

My  heart  leaped  wildly  at  this  first,  apparently  uncon- 
scious, utterance  by  her  lips  of  the  word  love.  Was  she 
beginning  to  feel  that  love  is  some^^hing  more  than  friend- 
ship? At  this  moment  Hulmar  returned;  and  soon  we 
were  on  our  way  to  Neuba,  as  the  city  was  then  called. 


•       BOSTON.  305 

I  must,  perforce;  pass  lightly  over  the  details  of  our 
eutertaiinneut  by  Aslau  and  his  cliarmiug  daughters. 
"We  paid,  of  course,  a  visit  to  the  local  nniseum,  —  a  spot, 
it  may  be  meutioued,  of  world-wide  fame.  For  there, 
under  an  immense  dome  of  tinted  ualln.,  stood,  on  its 
original  foundation,  the  building  consecrated  by  the 
memory  of  Washington.  In  spite  of  all  care,  the  wood- 
work had  begun  to  show  signs  of  irreparaljle  decay  thou- 
sands of  years  before.  But,  by  the  suggestion  and  under 
the  direction  of  a  famous  architect,  facsimiles  of  nulin 
had  been  substituted  for  the  more  perishable  material. 
The  stonework,  down  to  the  smallest  fragment,  even  the 
original  mortar  as  far  as  possible,  had  been  replaced  with 
religious  care  in  its  former  position,  so  as  to  preserve,  for 
all  time,  an  edifice  consecrated  by  such  memories. 

A  few  miles  off  stood  a  monument  of  venerable  anti- 
quity, the  third  in  succession,  I  was  informed,  it  had  been 
found  necessary  to  raise  there  at  intervals  measured  by 
chiliads.  This  marked  the  spot  where  the  "  Father  of 
Liberty,"  as  he  was  fondly  slyled  by  an  admiring  poster- 
ity, had  risen  to  make  that  memorable  address  by  which 
he  quelled  the  treasonable  murmurs  of  a,  perhaps  not 
unreasonably,  dissatisfied  soldiery. 

"  It  was  a  crisis  in  which  all  turned  on  the  character  of 
one  man,"  said  Hulmar,  as  we  turned  away.  ''  Fortunate 
it  was  for  mankind,  that  man  was  Washington," 


CHAPTEH  XXXV. 

reva's  lecture. 

The  evening  of  the  day  following  this  excursion  was 
that  appointed  for  the  delivery  of  Reva's  lecture.  Its 
theme,  that  famous  thistle,  which  had  thriven  wonderfully 
in  the  rich  soil  of  its  tub,  was  carried  down  in  the  fore- 
noon, and  placed  on  a  stand  on  the  platform  of  the  lecture- 
room.  This  w^as  ui  order  to  afford  all  an  opportunity  of 
closely  examining  the  strange  plant,  the  fame  of  which 
had  spread  far  and  wide.  Though  Reva  had  been  care- 
ful to  snip  off  every  morning  all  buds  that  threatened  to 
ripen,  the  plant  still  displayed  a  goodly  array  of  them. 
Its  ultimate  fate,  whether  to  be  utterly  destroyed,  or  to 
be  spared  in  order  to  distribute  specimens  to  be  kept, 
under  suitable  precautions,  by  the  curators  of  botanical 
gardens,  was  yet  to  be  determined  by  the  council  of 
elders. 

Since  the  attendance  promised  to  be  unusually  large,  it 
had  been  resolved  to  employ  the  great  dining-hall  instead 
of  the  ordinary  lecture-room.  As  a  matter  of  conven- 
ience also,  those  intending  to  be  present  at  the  lecture, 
that  IS,  practically  all  the  hihabitants  of  the  district, 
besides  many  invited  guests,  were  to  dine  in  the  great 
hall  as  on  the  Day  of  Rest. 
306 


EEVA'S  LECTURE.  307 

During  the  afternoon  I  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
and  taking  part  in  the  great  game  of  dorris,  so  popular 
among  the  young  people  of  the  period.  It  is  diftleult  to 
describe  clearly,  but  might  be  fairly  described  as  a  sort 
of  complicated  game  resembling  lawn-tennis.  An  exten- 
sive level  space  was  marked  off  by  white  lines  into  a  hun- 
dred squares,  each  about  twelve  yards  square.  In  each  of 
these  a  young  lady,  and  her  partner  assigned  for  the  day, 
took  their  stand,  to  defend  it  against  the  pair  facing  them 
in  the  next  square.  Squares  were  lost  or  won,  much  as 
a  game  of  tennis  among  us,  by  the  more  or  less  skilful  use 
of  the  raquet,  the  line  between  the  squares  taking  the 
place  of  the  net.  The  defeated  players  relinquished  their 
square  to  the  victors,  who  attacked  in  their  turn  the  next 
defended  square  before  them  ;  taking  care,  however,  to 
avoid  the  risk  of  capture  by  separating  too  far  from  the 
rest  of  their  side. 

The  captains  were  enabled  to  distinguish  their  players, 
fifty  pairs  of  each,  by  their  colors.  The  victory  depended 
upon  the  skill  o£  the  captain  in  disposing  his  or  her  best 
players  to  the  best  advantage,  and  in  effecting  skilful 
combinations  according  to  certain  rules.  One  great  ob- 
ject for  any  given  pair  of  players  was,  to  work  their  way 
to  the  farther  end  of  their  row.  In  this  case  they  could 
be  placed  by  their  captain  on  any  unoccupied  square 
where  they  could  do  most  damage  to  the  enemy.  The 
game,  the  zeruan  and  their  allies  against  the  vioran  and 
theirs,  was  contested  with  great  spu-it  on  both  sides, 
Reva  and  I  had  the  skill,  or  good  fortune,  to  capture 
three  squares  before  being,  in  our  turn,  retired,  till  sum- 
moned by  our  captain  to  take  the  place  of  a  pair  on  our 
side  requiring  rest. 


308  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

Pleasing  as  was  the  implied  compliment  to  our  skill,  1 
would  not  unwillingly  have  remained,  for  a  while  longer, 
a  mere  spectator  of  the  animated  scene.  The  fair  play- 
ers, with  their  shortened  skirts,  moved  with  the  grace 
and  agility  of  antelopes  ;  while  their  bright  sashes  and 
caps,  red  for  the  zeruan,  blue  for  the  viorayi,  flashed  like 
the  wing3  of  bright-hued  tropical  birds  among  the  more 
sober  tints  of  the  zenlar  costume.  It  was  plain  that  the 
vioran,  notwithstanding  their  zeal  and  activit}',  and  that 
the  best  partners  had  been  assigned  to  them,  were  over- 
matched by  the  greater  skill  and  experience  of  the  zeruan, 
their  seniors  by  a  few  years. 

Reva,  who  had  made  the  same  observation  during  her 
enforced  inactivity,  returned  with  ardor  to  the  aid  of  her 
hard-pressed  companions.  She  was  surprised  as  well  as 
pleased  at  the  skill  I  showed  with  the  raquet,  as  she  ex- 
plained to  me  during  a  pause  in  our  efforts.  This  led,  on 
my  part,  to  an  exposition  of  the  nature  of  lawn-tennis. 
This,  again,  led  me  to  betray  the  fact,  that,  during  the 
past  week,  I  had  been  preparuig  for  her  a  surprise  in  the 
form  of  a  series  of  sketches  from  memory  of  Edith  Alston 
in  various  costumes,  tennis,  yachting,  riding.  I  felt 
ampl}'  rewarded  for  my  labors  by  the  flush  of  pleased  sur- 
prise that  lighted  up  the  beautiful  face,  and  the  thanks 
expressed  in  the  bright  eyes  that  looked  so  frankly  into 
mine.  But  no  more  was  said  at  the  moment,  as  we  were 
summoned  into  action. 

"  Why  did  you  speak  of  those  sketches?  "  said  Reva, 
when  next  we  were  at  leisure.  "  I  can  think  of  nothing 
else.  If  I  lose  the  thread  of  my  discourse  to-night," 
she  added,  laughing,  "I  hope  you  will  feel  duly  repent- 
ant." 


REVA'S  LECTURE.  309 

On  iny  proposal  to  go  for  them  at  once,  she  assented, 
after  some  demur  on  account  of  the  shortness  of  the 
time.  But  by  arranging  for  a  substitute  to  take  my 
phice,  and  being  able  to  employ  a  flying  speed  on  the 
almost  deserted  roads,  I  returned,  with  a  few  minutes  to 
spare,  before  the  dinner-hour.  I  found  Reva  standing 
amid  a  group  of  her  fair  cousins,  who  were  discussing 
with  animation  the  late  contest.  Thanking  me  with  a 
look,  and  the  customary  graceful  gesture,  for  the  small 
portfolio  I  had  delivered  as  if  executing  an  ordinary 
commission,  she  hastened  away  to  examine  its  contents 
in  private. 

After  the  clearing  away  of  the  hall  after  dinner,  and 
the  arrangement  of  the  seats,  there  was  an  interlude  of 
music.  Then  came  on  the  event  of  the  evening.  In  the 
opening  part  of  her  lecture,  Reva  treated  the  scientific 
and  economic  aspects  of  her  sul)ject  witli  a  clearness  and 
precision  that  evidentl}'  gained  the  approval  of  those 
present  specially  competent  to  express  an  opinion  on 
those  points.  The  most  generally  interesting  part,  how- 
ever, was  the  second  half,  as  could  be  seen  by  the  eager 
attention  of  the  audience.  This  was  an  essay  upon  the 
character  and  genius  of  that  ancient  people  who  had 
adopted  the  plant  before  them  as  their  national  emblem, 
—  a  people  that,  for  their  numbers,  had  played  no  mean 
part  in  the  world's  history,  and  round  whose  rugged  land 
the  genius  of  one  of  her  sons  had  cast  a  glamour  that  had 
survived  the  rise  and  fall  of  mighty  empires. 

At  intervals,  during  this  part  of  the  lecture,  views  of 
the  places  referred  to  were  exhibited  by  means  of  the 
varzeo.     By  this,  as  in  a  magic  mirror,  we  saw  displayed 


310  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

before  our  eyes  clistunt  scenes,  not  as  they  luul  been  at 
some  past  time,  but  as  they  appeared  at  that  moment. 
The  mirror  was,  in  reality-,  a  peculiar  metallic  screen,  to 
which  were  transferred,  somewhat  as  sound  is  by  the 
telephone,  the  pictures  falling  upon  a  suitably  prepared 
screen  placed  before  the  scene  to  be  transferred.  I  saw 
with  astonishment  the  scene  of  the  battle  of  Largs  bathed 
in  the  summer  moonlight,  tliat  shimmered  in  the  rippled 
waters  of  the  Clyde,  and  obscurely  revealed  the  outlines 
of  the  isle  of  Cumbrae.  Trees  waved  in  the  wind,  a 
ship  at  anchor  rocked  in  the  rising  tide,  small  clouds 
passiug  before  the  moon  would  temporarily  obscure  the 
midnight  scene.  Wliile  the  audience  gazed  in  silence  on 
this  living  picture,  Ulmcne,  at  the  fine  instrument  belong- 
ing to  tlie  hall,  softl}'  played  an  improvisation,  introdu- 
cing such  selections  from  the  national  airs  as  her  exquisite 
taste  judged  appropriate  to  tlie  scene. 

In  a  similar  manner  was  displayed  to  our  ej'cs  "the 
castled  crag  "  of  Edinburgh,  crowned  with  edifices  whose 
forms  were  but  indistinctly  discernible  in  the  moonlight, 
here  much  interrupted  by  flying  scud  Glencoe,  again, 
was  evidently  the  focus  of  a  violent  storm.  Naught 
could  be  seen  but  an  occasional  glimpse,  from  amid  roll- 
ing masses  of  vapor,  of  a  mountain  peak  of  savage 
grandeur ;  while  from  the  organ  pealed  the  wild  notes  of 
a  Highland  pibroch,  now  heard,  i>jobably,  for  the  first 
time  after  an  interval  of  thousands  of  years 

In  spite  of  the  disadvantages  arising  in  the  views  of 
some  localities  from  the  untoward  state  of  the  weather, 
a  diflTiculty  to  which  exhibitions  witli  the  varzeo  were 
liable,  Reva  had  reason  to  be  gratified  with  the  reception 


REVA'S  LECTURE.  311 

accorded  to  her  lecture.  Though  Huhiiar  said  nothnig, 
I  could  well  see  that  he  was  abundantly  satisfied.  Well 
he  might  be  ;  for,  as  lalma  told  me  on  oitr  way  home,  — 
Reva  went  home  with  Her  father,  —  the  elders  asserted  it 
to  be  the  most  successful  lecture  within  their  recollection. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A   KISS    AND    ITS    CONSEQUENCES. 

"What  shall  I  say  to  tbauk  you?  "said  Reva,  when  I 
fouud  her  next  morning  in  their  garden  feeding  her  gold- 
lish.      "  You  have  been  very  good  to  me." 

A  something  in  her  manner  emboldened  me  to  ask, 
purposely  making  use  of  her  own  expression,  — 

"Are  you  yet  able  to  say,  what  you  once  gave  me 
some  ground  to  hope  for,  that  we  are  —  very  good 
friends? " 

"More  than  friends,  Ismar,"  said  she  simply,  yet 
with  a  certain  faltering  shyness.  "  Yes,"  she  continued, 
answering  the  glad  question  she  read  in  my  e3'es,  "I 
tliink  I  really  —  what  they  call  love  you  —  somewhat  at 
least." 

"What  makes  you  believe  you  begin  to  love  me?" 
said  I,  with  difficulty  repressing  any  too  energetic  expres- 
sion, even  in  words,  of  tlie  wild  joy  I  felt,  fearing  I  might 
scare  this  shy  confidence. 

"  Many  things,"  replied  she,  gatliering  confidence  now 

that  the   ice  was  broken,  and  re-assured  by  my  manner. 

"I  always  liked  j'ou,  as  I  said  before;  and,  when  j'ou 

told  me  —  that  time,  1  found  it  pleasant  to  be  loved  by 

312 


A    KISS   AND    ITS   CONSEQUENCES.  313 

you.  But  now  I  begin  to  find  that  it  is  even  better  to 
love  than  to  be  loved.     Besides,  yesterday  "  — 

"  Well?  "  said  I  encouragingly  and  interrogatively. 

"  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  tell  it.  But,  as  I  was  going 
away  with  those  sketches,  I  happened  to  see  you,  in  a 
mirror,  talking  gayly  with  Udene  Vadarna.  She  is  ver}^ 
prett}',"  she  continued  apologetically,  "and,  I  know, 
admires  you.  Then  I  felt  a  miserable  feeling  I  had  never 
known  before,  and  knew  that  I  must  love  3'ou,  since  I 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  your  caring  too  much  for 
another." 

In  return  for  this  sweet  confession,  I  told  how,  on 
almost  the  same  spot,  I  had  become  aware  of  my  love 
on  experiencing  that  same  miserable  feeling  while  watch- 
ing Anvar  Siured  await  her  coming  forth.  This  we  both, 
of  course,  regarded  as  a  remarkalde  coincidence,  and 
found  multitudes  of  similar  confidences  to  impart.  So 
many,  indeed,  did  we  find,  that  the  hours  sped  on  un- 
heeded, till,  to  Reva's  confusion,  her  father  came  forth 
to  call  us  to  luncheon,  mucli  as  Reva  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  summon  himself  and  me  wlien  we  had  been  too 
engrossed  with  our  task  to  come  forth  unwarned.  Hul- 
mar  had  now  set  vigorously  to  work  to  arrange  the  mass 
of  material  with  which  I  had  lielped  to  provide  hun. 

Thus,  too,  the  days  sped  on  till  there  wanted  but  about 
ten  days  till  Olav  and  lalma's  marriage-day.  In  that 
first  sweet  interchange  of  mutual  confidences,  Edith 
Alston  had,  in  sooth,  been  altogether  lost  sight  of. 
Happy  love  is  apt  to  be  engrossed  with  the  blissful 
present.  But,  during  our  succeeding  talks,  Edith  formed 
an  apparently  exhaustless  topic  for  Reva's  questiouiug. 


314         THE  DIOTEAS;   OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

Now  that  she  had  confessed  her  love,  she  took  endless 
delight  in  learning  all  the  circumstances  of  my  engage- 
ment to  that  former  self.  For  so,  since  recognizing  in 
those  sketches  Edith's  wonderful  likeness  to  herself,  she 
had  come  more  and  more  to  regard  her.  Seeing  the 
pleasure  these  had  afforded,  b}^  her  special  request,  in- 
deed, I  had  made  another  sketch  representing  YA\\h  in 
a  costume  she  wore  on  a  certain  never-to-be-forgotten 
occasion.  AVith  this  before  us,  I  had  been  made  to  go 
over  the  whole  story  again.  Reva  had  listened  somewhat 
pensively. 

"  Do  you  reall}'  and  truly  love  Reva  as  much  as  you 
did  Edith?"  she  asked  suddenly,  at  a  certain  point  in 
my  narration. 

I  protested  that  the  question  was  altogether  absurd, 
seeing  that  Edith  and  Reva  were  to  me  one  and  the  same 
person.  She  herself  laughed  at  what  she  termed  her  fool- 
ish question,  and  begged  me  to  proceed  with  the  narra- 
tive of  events. 

"  AVhat !  "  exclaimed  Reva,  when  a  certain  particular 
hitherto  omitted  had  escaped  me  ;  "  you  kissed  her  every 
time  you  called  ?  ' ' 

I  was  then  obliged  to  explain  that  such  was  the  ac- 
corded privilege  under  the  stated  circumstances. 

''  She  must  indeed  have  been  much  more  dear  to  you 
than  I  am,"  exclaimed  Reva,  with  a  slight  tremor  in  her 
voice,  "  since  you  have  never" —  She  checked  herself, 
blushing  violently,  and  seemed  frightened  at  the  impul- 
sive utterance  that  had  so  unwittingly  escaped  her. 

We  were  standing  on  the  veranda  at  the  time,  just 
about  to  enter  to  join  Hulmar,  who  was  busily  engaged 


A   KISS   AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES.  315 

in  his  study.  What  I  did  was  wrong,  very  wrong,  ac- 
cordiug  to  the  then  received  standard  of  propriety  ;  and  I 
knew  it.  But,  carried  along  by  a  seemingly  incontrollable 
impulse,  I  clasped  her  in  my  arms,  and  imprinted,  not  one 
kiss,  but  many,  upon  those  virgin  lips.  For  one  blissful 
moment  she  yielded  to  my  embrace,  then  gently,  but 
firmly,  disengaged  herself,  and  stood  before  me  pale  and 
agitated. 

''O  Ismar,  what  have  I  done!"  she  exclaimed,  and 
looked  into  my  face,  not  reproachfully,  but  as  if  for  sym- 
pathy. ''How  can  I  tell  this?  I,  who  never  expected 
such  a  thing  could  happen,  must  now  meet  my  father's 
reproachful  eyes.  But  1  must  not  hnger,  lest  1  lose  cour- 
age altogether." 

I  was  now  sobered,  and  aghast  at  my  own  folly,  the 
consequences  of  which  I  began  to  perceive.  But  I  dared 
not  even  suggest  the  keeping  of  this  matter  from  Hulmar. 
To  do  so  would  be  to  suggest  a  serious  infraction  of 
Reva's  moral  code,  —  would,  perhaps,  cost  me  her  confi- 
dence forever.  Girls  were  trained  to  regard  it  as  a  mat- 
ter of  the  highest  obligation  to  conceal  from  their  mothers 
no  dereliction  of  duty,  —  no  act,  indeed,  of  whose  propri- 
ety they  entertained  any  doubt.  Hulmar  had,  to  a  great 
extent,  filled  this  office  of  moral  director  to  his  daughter. 
Still  pale,  but  now  outwardly  calm,  Reva  entered  her 
fatlier's  presence. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Reva?"  inquired  he,  looking  up 
from  his  work,  and  at  once  struck  by  her  manner. 

"Father,  I  have  to  confess  a  great  fault;  I  have  al- 
lowed Ismar  — to  kiss  me:"  the  utterance  of  tlie  last 
words  seemed  to  cost  a  great  effort,  and  was  accompa- 
nied by  a  deep  blush. 


316  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,   A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

At  these  words  the  expression  of  Hulmar's  face,  as  it 
was  turued  toward  me,  became  stern,  —  very  stern.  But, 
not  giving  him  time  to  speak,  Reva  went  on  hurriedly,  — 

"Do  not  blame  him:  it  was  wholly  my  fault;  I  —  all 
but  asked  him." 

"Reva,"  said  her  father,  still  very  grave,  yet  appar- 
ently relieved,  "  what  is  this  I  hear?     Explain." 

"  I  can  hardly  explain  how  it  happened.  But  a  most 
foolish  idea  had  taken  possession  of  me.  I  thought  Is- 
mar  did  not  love  me  as  — as  he  once  did  when  I  was 
Edith.  I  could  not  bear  the  thought :  I  hardly  knew 
what  I  was  saying." 

"  Reva,"  said  her  father,  but  much  less  gravely  than 
before,  "you  have,  indeed,  committed  a  grave  fault,  and 
one  that  would  expose  you  to  a  severe  rebuke  from  the 
council  of  matrons,  should  it  come  to  their  knowledge. 
They  do  not  know  the  special  reasons  that  greatl3'  excuse 
what  would  otherwise  be  inexcusable.  I  do  not  greatly 
blame  Ismar.  How  could  he  be  expected  to  resist  such 
a  challenge?  I,  perhaps,  am  really  more  to  blame  than 
either  of  you.  Yet,  my  dear  children,"  he  continued, 
"  we  must  face  this  fact.  You  two  can  never  again  be 
trusted  together  as  hitherto.  You,  Reva,  have  granted 
Ismar  a  privilege  due  only  to  a  betrothed  husband.  Are 
you  willing  at  once  to  accept  him  as  such?  " 

Much  as  it  had  cost  me,  I  had  remained  a  silent  au- 
ditor during  this  scene.  For  comparativcl}'  a  stranger, 
as  I  was,  to  the  pervading  ideas  and  nicer  shades  of  opin- 
ion of  the  period,  what  could  I  sa}"  that  might  not  give 
deep,  though  unintended,  offence?  On  hearing  this  de- 
mand on  the  part  of  her  father,  Reva  raised  her  eyes 


A  KISB  AND   ITS   CONSEQUENCES.  317 

timidly  and  doiibtingl}'  towards  mine.  So  deeply  was 
she  humiliated  in  her  self-esteem,  that,  as  she  afterwards 
confided  to  me,  she  almost  doubted  her  worthiness.  The 
yearning  entreaty  she  read  in  my  eyes  removed  her  hes- 
itation. 

"To-morrow,  then,"  said  her  father,  on  receiving  her 
blushing  assent,  "  to-morrow  you  shall  enter  the  ranks  of 
the  zerucm.  We  have  said  all  that  is  necessar}-  in  regard 
to  this  matter.  It  breaks  up  our  pleasant  company.  Let 
us  enjoy  the  few  hours  that  remain  before  our  separation." 

On  the  following  morning,  accordingly,  Reva  and  I 
entered  the  second  stage  of  courtship.  In  the  presence 
of  a  large  company  of  relatives,  —  my  mother  was  not 
present,  but  sent  her  heartfelt  congratulations,  —  I  placed 
the  betrothal-rhig  upon  the  engaged  finger  of  that  dear 
hand,  which  trembled  in  mine  as  I  did  so,  and  received 
from  her  a  ring  in  return.  After  receivhig  the  congratu- 
lations of  those  present,  I  gave  the  blushing  zenia  the 
kiss  of  betrotlial,  and  set  out  at  once  on  my  journey  to 
Salu. 

According  to  the  fixed  custom  of  the  period,  I  was  now 
banished  from  the  place  of  residence  of  my  betrothed  for 
the  space  of  a  year.  The  rest  of  the  world  was  before 
me,  but  from  the  one  spot  most  dear  to  me  I  was  debarred 
inexoral)ly  as  Adam  from  paradise.  There  was  but  one 
relaxation  from  this  severe  rule.  Custom  did  not  forbid 
our  meeting  anywhere  bej'ond  the  bounds  of  her  native 
district.  But  this  was  a  privilege  dependent  entirely 
upon  the  judgment  of  those  to  whom  she  owed  obedience. 

Much  as  I  chafed  at  first  at  what  I  considered  as  the 
excessive  harshness  of  tliis  custom,  I  soon  began  to  ap- 


318  THE   D/Ori/AS  ;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

preciate  the  profound  wisdom  that  had  dictated  its  adop- 
tion. Separated  in  body,  we  seemed  to  draw  j'et  nearer 
in  soul.  The  happiness  I  now  enjoj'ed  in  our  daily  com- 
munion of  soul  with  soul,  if  not  so  iutense  as  that  in  her 
presence,  was  of  a  higher  order.  That  mutual  interac- 
tion of  mind  on  mind,  that  moulding  of  character  by 
character,  on  which  Utis  had  laid  so  much  stress,  became 
to  me  day  by  day  a  matter  of  happy  personal  experience. 
How  much  we  had  to  say  during  that  happ}'  hour  of  con- 
verse !     How  rapidly  it  seemed  to  flee  ! 

1  shall  not  weary  the  reader  with  the  details  of  my  life 
near  the  great  city  of  Salu,  the  seat  of  the  great  central 
depository,  with  its  hundred  million  volumes.  It  was 
this  drew  me  there,  in  order  to  carry  out  a  plan  of  in- 
vestigation already  determined  on  before  that  act  of  im- 
pulsive folly  expelled  me  prematurely  from  my  paradise. 
I  did  not,  of  course,  spend  all  my  time  amid  the  moulder- 
ing records  of  the  past.  It  was  necessary',  not  only  from 
considerations  of  health,  but  also  from  regard  to  the  cus- 
tom of  the  period,  for  me  to  adopt  some  regular  manual 
occupation.  Not  having  received  the  training  of  a  zer- 
dar,  I  had  no  great  choice  of  active  occupations.  I  ac- 
cordingly, at  the  suggestion  of  Utis,  adopted  one  that 
not  only  required  no  special  skill,  but  also  had  the  advan- 
tage of  taking  me  much  into  the  open  air,  a  consideration 
of  some  importance,  considering  the  hours  I  spent  in  the 
alcoves  of  tlie  great  depository. 

Imagine  me,  therefore,  engaged  from  four  in  the  morn- 
ing till  nearl}'  eight,  in  the  useful  and  necessary,  but 
among  us  somewhat  contemned,  occupation  of  setting  in 
order  the  streets  of  Salu  for  the  business  of  the  ensuing 


A   KISS   AND    ITS   CONSEQUENCES.  319 

day.  So  far  was  such  au  employment  from  being  regarded 
as  derogatory,  that  this  one  was  specially  affected  by  men 
of  the  highest  intellectual  eminence,  whose  other  pursuits 
tended  to  confine  them  within  doors.  It  was,  in  fact, 
through  the  agency  of  an  eminent  scientist,  to  whom  I 
received  a  note  of  introduction  from  Ilulmar,  that  I  ob- 
tained a  post  in  the  section  in  which  he  himself  worked 
during  the  early  morning  hours.  It  must  be  remembered,' 
too,  that  the  work  was  done  almost  entirel}'  hy  the  ingen- 
ious machines  we  merely  directed. 

Besides  these  four  hours,  and  the  five  regularly  spent 
in  the  library,  I  found  time  for  man}'  an  interesting  ex- 
cursion. At  one  time  I  would  indulge  in  a  long  stretch 
in  my  curricle  over  the  extensive  prairies  that  surrounded 
the  city.  Again,  from  the  deck  of  one  of  the  swift  elec- 
tric boats,  1  would  view  with  admiration  the  verdant 
banks  of  the  Mississippi,  now  an  orderly  stream,  long 
since  broken  of  its  lawless  freaks. 

Less  than  a  hundred  miles  away,  about  an  hour's  jour- 
ney by  rail,  was  one  of  the  immense  reservoirs  that, 
storing  up  the  superabundant  waters  of  one  season,  at 
another  gave  them  forth  to  maintain  the  average  level  of 
the  mighty  river.  All  that  the  Nile  was  to  Egypt,  the 
"  Father  of  AVaters  "  had  become  to  a  region  compared 
with  which  Egypt  was  as  insignificant  in  extent  as  its 
boasted  civilization  was  inferior  to  that  of  the  ninety- 
sixth  century.  Scattered  along  its  fertilizing  banks,  and 
throughout  its  basin,  were  numerous  and  famous-  cities, 
that  had  possessed  a  name  and  place  during  more  than 
double  the  number  of  years  denoting  the  present  age  of 
Damascus,  most  venerable  of  existing  cities. 


320  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

The  reservoirs  —  lakes  in  extent  —  were  almost  covered 
with  a  species  of  floating  gardens,  or,  rather,  farms,  on 
which  were  raised  various  products  requiring  abundant 
moisture.  These  products  were  produced  in  quantities 
that  sounded  incredible  to  me,  difficult  as  it  had  become 
to  surprise  me,  and  would  perhaps  raise  doubts  as  to  my 
veracity  should  I  be  so  incautious  as  to  mention  the 
exact  figures  as  reported  to  me.  By  means  of  a  well- 
devised  system  of  pisciculture,  all  rivers  were  well  stocked 
with  choice  fish ;  but  these  reservoirs  fairly  teemed  with 
them,  and  supplied  a  great  population  with  what,  eggs 
excepted,  was  the  only  variety  of  animal  food  ever  iu- 
duloed  in. 


-       .        CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AN   UNFORESEEN   DISCOVERT. 

How  little  fire  we  able  to  foresee  the  ultimate  result  of 
apparently  trifling  actions  !  A  pebble,  a  twig,  may  decide 
whether  a  given  rain-drop  shall  reach  the  ocean  through 
the  waters  of  the  Mississippi  or  of  the  Oregon.  A  little 
sketch  had  led  to  my  banishment  from  Reva :  an  ac- 
quaintance, made  in  the  most  casual  way,  led  to  — 
Well,  that  will  all  come  in  due  time. 

Among  other  pleasant  acquaintances  made  at  the  house 
of  the  scientist  already  adverted  to,  was  that  of  an  emi- 
nent authority  on  genealogy.  A  genealogist  in  that 
period,  it  must  be  well  understood,  was  no  blind  groper 
amid  the  scanty  records  of  a  misty  past,  no  framer,  to 
order,  of  well-paid-for  pedigrees.  Genealogy  was  a  sci- 
ence. Just  as,  among  us,  a  scientific  botanist  can  assign 
a  place  and  name  to  each  individual  of  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  species  of  plants  on  the  face  of  the  earth ; 
so  a  genealogist,  given  the  few  data  that  each  person 
was  supposed  to  carry  'm  memory,  could  assign  to  that 
person  his  exact  place  in  the  great  family  tree  of  the 
race. 

Each  family,  at  this  time,  could  trace  back  its  descent 

321 


3-22  THE   DIOTUAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

from  about  the  middle  of  the  third  chiliad  ;  that  is,  for 
about  sixty  centuries.  Some  could  go  a  few  centuries 
farther  back,  but  noue,  with  any  certainty,  beyond  the 
beginning  of  the  second  chiliad.  This  chiliad  was  re- 
garded as  the  ultima  Thule  of  accurate  research,  a  region 
enveloped  in  the  misleading  mists  of  uncertainty,  and 
beset  with  the  reefs  and  quicksands  of  genealogical 
myth. 

Deuro  Frilaz  was  one  of  those  adventurous  spirits  that 
sometimes  carried  research  into  these  misty  centuries. 
Through  him  I  became  acquainted  with  the  history  of 
the  Diothas,  and  the  difficulty  of  tracing  the  line  for 
more  than  two  generations  beyond  the  famous  Esna. 
This  was  largely  owiug  to  the  change  of  name  in  the 
female  line  at  every  generation  before  that  epoch.  I 
insensibly  caught  some  of  my  informant's  enthusiasm. 
Guided  by  his  hints  as  to  the  proper  line  of  research,  I 
entered  upon  an  investigation  for  which  I  possessed  pe- 
culiar advantages.  Favored  by  a  lucky  accident,  I  was 
so  fortunate  as  to  light  upon  a  clew  that,  carefully  fol- 
lowed up,  with  the  aid  of  Deuro,  enabled  me  to  carry 
back  the  line  of  Diotlia  for  nearly  two  centuries  more. 

Deuro  was  delighted.  What  was  far  more  precious  to 
me,  however,  was  the  proud  delight  expressed  by  Reva 
at  my  success  in  the  solution  of  a  problem  that  had 
baffled  the  zeal  and  acuteness  of  so  many  before  me. 
After  giving  me  an  account  of  a  gathering  of  all  the 
Diothas  of  the  neighborhood  at  their  house,  to  hear  read 
the  phonographic  transcript  of  Deuro's  report,  she  went 
ou  to  say,  — 

"  Ulmene,  lalma,  and  I,  hy  the  vote   of   all  present, 


AN    UNFORESEEN   DISCOVERY.  323 

wei'e  appointed  a  committee  to  convey  to  you  the  thanks 
of  all  Uiothas  for  what  you  have  done.  Many  other 
tilings  were  said,  Ismar,  that  made  me  both  proud  and 
happy." 

Thinking  Reva  was  alone,  I  hereupon  sportively  sug- 
gested how  much  more  agreeable,  even,  it  would  be  to 
hear  such  words  of  commendation  from  the  lips  of  the 
committee, in  propriis  personis  instead  of  from  the  lips 
of  the  telephone.  I  also  expressed  my  readiness  to  be- 
take mA'self  to  an}'  appointed  place  that  would  suit  the 
convenience  of  said  committee.  I  now  first  became 
aware,  by  a  sound  of  soft  laughter  and  some  scattered 
words  that  reached  my  ear,  that  I  was  in  the  telephonic 
presence,  not  of  Reva  alone,  but  of  the  whole  committee. 
It  was  lalma  communicated  the  result  of  the  consultation, 
in  a  voice  slightly  tremulous  \Titli  amusement :  — 

"  This  committee  is  of  opinion,  that,  though  unusual, 
your  request  should  receive  due  consideration.  Extraor- 
diuaiy  merits  deserve  extraordinary  rewards." 

Ulmene  next  spoke  :  — 

"  Reva  and  I  cannot  make  out  what  plan  Talma  has  in 
her  head.  It  may  amount  to  nothing.  I  am  frequently 
obliged  to  hold  up  Reva  to  her  as  a  pattern  of  staid- 
ness." 

After  encouragement  like  this,  it  may  be  supposed  that 
such  sweetly  rewarded  researches  were  prosecuted  with 
renewed  ardor.  At  Hulmar's  suggestion,  indeed,  I  now 
devoted  my  whole  time  to  tlie  line  of  research  that  had 
proved  so  successful.  After  unsatisfactory  progress  dur- 
ing a  few  days,  I  again  struck  the  true  lead.  Hencefor- 
ward, day  after  day,  I  was  iible  to  report  to  Reva  the 


324  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

discovery  of  another  link  in  the  long  line  of  descent  from 
our  times :  day  after  day  I  was  hastening  toward  the  des- 
tined end. 

A  few  days  after  Olav  Edial  had  passed  through  Sain, 
on  his  way  to  home  and  happiness,  I  had  advanced  so  far 
in  my  research  as  to  trace  the  descent  of  Esua  Diotha 
from  the  wife  of  a  certain  Stev/art  Postal.  The  maiden 
name  of  the  wife  was,  however,  so  blurred  in  the  time- 
eaten  record,  as  to  be  entirely  illegible.  Yet  that  was  the 
important  name,  the  female  line  alone  being  the  object  of 
m}'  research.  As  the  marriage  had  taken  place  at  Nuiorc, 
I  had  no  doubt  of  being  able  to  find  a  notice  of  it  in  some 
of  the  daily  papers  of  that  city.  The  lateness  of  the  hour 
obliged  me,  however,  to  defer  till  the  following  day  a 
search  that  might  prove  long  and  tedious. 

Scarcely  had  the  doors  of  the  institution  been  opened 
next  morning,  when  I  was  on  hand,  eager  to  i)rosecute  my 
search.  With  hands  treml)ling  with  anxiety,  I  placed  in 
the  magnifying  apparatus  the  photographic  reduction  of 
the  files  of  "The  New-York  Quidnunc"  for  that  year. 
At  such  speed  as  I  required,  the  magnified  copy  si)ed  over 
the  screen,  the  letters  enlarged  to  a  size  that  admitted  of 
their  being  read  at  a  distance  of  several  yards. 

Ah  !  here  at  last  is  the  required  date.  Let  us  move 
more  slowly,  till  we  reach  the  heading  •"  Marriages." 
Even  before  I  stop  the  machine,  I  catch  the  name  Utis. 
But  what  is  that  other  name?  Can  it  be  possible?  Ex- 
cepting the  names,  the  following  is  an  exact  copy  of 
what  met  my  astonished  eyes  :  — 

"EsTAi  — Thiusex.  —  At  St.  Dunstan's  Clmrch,  Feb.  9,  1910, 
by  the  Rev.  Estne  Quidain,  Stewart  Estai  to  Edith  lieva,  youngest 
daughter  of  Isinar  Thiusen." 


AN    UNFORESEEN   DISCOVERT.  325 

I  was  strongly  agitated.  Could  it  be  possible  that  — 
But  no.  Ismar  Thiusen  was  no  uncommon  name.  In 
order  fully  to  appreciate  my  surprise  and  incredulity,  the 
reader  must  understand  that  Hulmar  and  I  had  accepted, 
as  the  most  plausible  explanation  of  the  fact  that  my 
remembrances  of  that  former  existence  ended  so  abruptly, 
the  theory  that  that  former  life  had  ceased  then  and  there, 
cut  off  by  some  sudden  accident.  But  here  was  I  con- 
fronted by  evidence  that  seemed  to  show  that  I  had  lived 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  at  least,  after  the  date  of  my 
supposed  decease.  If  this  were  indeed  the  case,  my  mar- 
riage had  most  probably  taken  place  in  this  same  church, 
for  reasons  well  known  to  me.  As  for  the  date,  the 
marriage  of  this  youngest  daughter  afforded  room  for  a 
fair  guess,  within  narrow  limits. 

Overwhelmed  by  the  possibility  thus  presented  to  my 
contemplation,  I  sat  for  some  time  irresolute.  AYould  it 
not  be  better  to  leave  the  matter  in  doubt?  But  no  !  any 
certainty  was  preferable  to  this  suspense.  No  longer  with 
eager  hope,  but  filled  with  a  stubborn  desire  to  learn  the 
exact  truth,  I  prosecuted  my  now  distasteful  task.  Soon, 
too  soon,  I  found  what  I  sought.  Yes  :  on  a  certain  date 
in  the  year  1883,  Ismar  Thiusen  married  Edith  Mary,  only 

daughter  of  Ruthven  Alston,  of .     The  peculiarity  of 

the  names  left  no  room  for  doubt.  I  was  the  ancestor 
of  Reva  Diotha. 

I  sat  down,  and  tried  to  face  my  position,  but  in  vain : 
my  thoughts  were  in  a  whirl.  Deuro  found  me  sitting 
there.  Shocked  at  my  appearance,  he  earnestly  expostu- 
lated with  me  on  my  excessive  ardor  in  research.  I  did 
not  feel  in  condition  to  argue  thematter; -so,  though  it 


326  THE   DIOTHAS,    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD 

was  yet  comparatively  early  in  the  morning,  I  left  the 
building,  and  hastened  out  into  the  open  air. 

About  two-hours"  distance  by  rail,  eastward  from  Salu, 
was  a  spot  to  which  I  had  for  some  time  been  intending 
to  make  a  pilgrimage.  It  was  a  spot  hallowed  by  lofty 
memories.  There  had  been  fought  the  great  and  terriljle 
contest  that  proved  the  turning-point  in  the  hitherto  re- 
sistless career  of  the  great  invader  known  as  the  last  of 
the  despots. 

Once  seated  in  the  car,  and  speeding  thither  at  the  rate 
of  a  hundred  miles  an  hour,  or  so,  1  found  myself  al)le 
to  reflect,  with  some  degree  of  calmness,  upon  the  strange 
position  in  which  I  found  mj'self.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of 
my  distress,  only  too  well  founded  as  I  regarded  it,  I  was 
fully  conscious  of  the  grotesque  element  in  the  situation. 
Was  ever  mortal  involved  in  such  a  case  as  mine?  I  was 
not  only  deepl}',  irretrievably  in  love  with  my  own  de- 
scendant in  the  three  hundred  and  thirty-first  degree,  — 
for  such  was  the  exact  number  of  generations  from  Edith 
to  Reva,  —  but  had  also  the  assurance  of  that  love  being 
fully  returned. 

But,  argued  I  to  myself,  as  soon  as  the  first  feeling  of 
unreasoning  consternation  had  passed,  if  I  am  the  ances- 
tor of  Reva,  am  I  not  also  m}'  own  ancestor?  Am  I  not 
the  ancestor  of  all  the  Diothas?  At  this  thought,  a  thrill 
of  pardonable  pride  'passed  through  my  bosom,  as  I 
thought  of  that  noble  line,  renowned  ui  every  department 
of  literature  and  art,  and  pre-eminently  endowed  with 
every  womanly  grace. 

"  A  man  may  not  many  his  granddaughter,"  says  the 
canon  law.     But  what  about  his  descendant  in  the  three- 


AN    UNFORESEEN   DISCOVERY.  327 

hundredtb  degree,  and  more?  Was  I  not,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  as  regards  that  law,  an  entirely  different 
person  from  that  Ismar  Thiusen  whose  very  dust  had  long 
since  vanished  from  the  earth?  As  much  so,  indeed,  as 
Keva  was  a  different  person  from  Edith  Alston. 

If,  again,  as  I  had  every  reason  to  believe,  it  was  the 
re-embodied  spirit  of  Edith  that  animated  Eeva,  had  I 
not  an  indefeasible  claim  upon  her  who,  according  to  the 
testimony  of  those  time-eaten  records,  had  been  my  wife? 
As  this  consideration  occurred  to  me,  it  seemed  conclu- 
sive. I  could  have  cried  aloud  for  joy.  The  question 
was  settled  as  regarded  my  own  doubts.  What  but  a 
short  time  before  had  filled  me  with  dismay,  now,  regarded 
from  another  point  of  view,  afforded  a  subject  for  the 
most  pleasing  reflections.  I  almost  longed  for  the  time 
when  it  would  be  my  privilege  to  reveal  to  her  the  pleas- 
ing fact  that  she  — 

At  this  thought  all  my  uneasiness  returned  in  full  force. 
How  would  Reva  regard  the  matter?  The  reasoning  that 
appeared  so  conclusive  to  me  might  prove  far  from  con- 
vincing to  her.  After  debating  the  sul)ject  for  some  time 
with  myself,  I  finally  resolved  to  lay  the  whole  matter  l:)e- 
fore  Hnlmar,  and  abide  by  his  decision.  Such  confidence 
had  I  in  his  judgment,  that,  even  should  it  prove  adverse 
to  my  dearest  hopes,  —  which  I  little  feared,  for  had  I  not 
common  sense  and  justice  on  my  side?  — I  would  submit 
as  to  the  decree  of  conscience.  As  for  Reva,  I  knew 
that  she,  too,  would  accept  his  decision  as  final. 

Evening  was  approaching  when  I  re-entered  Salu,  in  a 
very  different  state  of  mind  from  that  with  which  I  had 
left  It.     At  my  quarters  I  found  a  message  awaiting  me, 


328  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

to  the  effect  that  a  telephone-call  had  sounded  for  me 
some  hours  before.  On  learning  of  my  absence,  the 
caller  had  requested  the  placing  of  a  clhiba.  This  useful 
piece  of  apparatus  consisted  of  an  ingeniously  contrived 
sealed  case,  containing  a  phonographic  registering  appa- 
ratus, to  which  any  private  or  confidential  message  might 
be  safely  confided.  On  breaking  the  seal,  and  setting  the 
apparatus  iu  motion,  I  first  listened  to  a  brief  message 
from  Hulmar.  He  gently  reproached  me  with  my  exces- 
sive devotion  to  research.  Deuro,  it  seems,  had  com- 
municated with  him  soon  after  my  departure. 

"  No  discoveries,  however  interesting,"  he  concluded, 
"  could  compensate  for  injury  to  j'our  health.  I  will  not 
say  more  on  that  subject  at  present,  however.  Reva  has 
a  message  that  will  effectually  prevent  any  danger  from 
that  source  for  the  present." 

Hulmar  had,  seemingly,  not  communicated  to  Reva  the 
alarming  message  he  had  received.  Her  tones  breathed 
only  joyous  anticipation. 

"  lalma  has  at  last  revealed  the  plan  she  would  not 
that  day  reveal  to  Ulmene  and  me.  You  would  never 
guess  how  good  she  has  been.  She  put  off  her  wedding- 
da}'  for  a  week  —  you  remember  how  it  surprised  us  all  — 
entirely  on  our  account, — yes,  yours  and  mine.  With 
Olav's  consent,  —  what  a  good  lirother  he  is,  and  how 
glad  I  am  he  likes  you  !  —  lalma  has  arranged  to  have  her 
wedding  at  Falo  (the  later  name  of  Buffalo) ,  so  that  you 
may  be  present.  I  had  resigned  mj'self  not  to  see  3'ou  for 
a  whole  year,  yet  thought  myself  happy.     But  now"  — 

Then  followed  some  directions  and  explanations.  In 
the  first  place,  I  was  to  leave  Salu  that  same  evening,  so 


AN    UNFORESEEN  DISCOVERY.  329 

as  to  join  Olav  next  morniug  at  a  small  village  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Falo.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 
I  telephoned  at  once  to  Resval,  for  so  my  friend  the  sci- 
entist was  called,  to  explain  the  cause  of  my  departure, 
and  beg  him  to  provide  a  substitute  for  me  in  the  duties 
I  had  undertaken.  The  ideas  of  the  period  exacted  ex- 
treme regard  for  engagements  of  every  kind,  so  that  I 
was  not  without  uneasiness  as  to  my  ability  to  get  away 
at  such  short  notice.  But,  says  one  of  the  wisest  of  men, 
"All  mankind  loves  a  lover,"  —  a  truth  that  will  ever 
hold  more  true  as  love  becomes  more  sacred. 

"  Such  a  summons  as  yours  goes  before  every  thing," 
was  the  reply  that  came  sounding  over  the  wires.  "  Some 
one  shall  be  found  to  take  your  place.  Viana  says  she 
will  do  so  herself  if  no  other  arrangement  can  be  made." 

Though  Viana,  his  loA^ely  and  accomplished  wife,  said 
this  mainly  in  jest,  I  felt  not  the  slightest  doubt  that 
she  would  make  good  her  word  should  needful  occasion 
arise.  This  matter  satisfactorily  arranged,  I  found,  that, 
by  using  the  utmost  despatch,  I  could  leave  by  the  swift 
night-train  for  the  East. 

That  I  succeeded  in  doing  so  was  due  in  a  large  meas- 
ure to  the  considerate  forethought  of  the  kind  Viana.  At 
her  suggestion,  a  young  zerdar  I  had  met  at  her  house 
called  for  me  in  his  curricle,  in  order  to  conve}'  me  to  the 
immense  station  across  the  river,  at  some  distance  from 
my  quarters.  This  friend  in  need  seemed  well  acquainted 
with  the*  purpose  of  my  sudden  departure,  and  offered  his 
congratulations  upon  what  appeared  to  him  a  most  envi- 
able piece  of  good  fortune.  He,  poor  fellow,  had  yet  full 
six  mouths  to  wait  before  he  could  visit  that  spot,  some 


330  THE    DIOTHAS;     OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

lonely  island  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  to  liim  the  dearest  upon 
earth. 

I  found  time,  before  the  train  left,  to  send  on  a  few 
words  announcing  my  departure,  promising  to  send  more 
by  cliuba.  Scarcely  was  the  train  in  motion,  when  I  pro- 
ceeded to  carry  this  promise  into  effect.  In  the  special 
compartment  provided  for  the  purpose,  I  confided  to  the 
faithful  cliuba  all  I  wished  to  say.  There  was  plenty  of 
time,  since  we  did  not  halt  for  the  first  hundred  miles. 
The  case  being  confided  by  me  to  the  proper  agent,  was 
put  off  at  this  station,  where  thej'  knew  what  was  to  be 
done. 

As  the  train  moved  off,  I  pleased  myself  with  the  idea 
that  my  message  was  already  transmitted  to  the  recording 
instrument  in  Hulmar's  study,  —  might  possibly*  be  already 
sounding  in  the  ears  for  which  it  was  intended.  On  the 
(linba.,  in  fact,  being  placed  in  connection  with  the  proper 
wire,  the  message  within  was  almost  instantaneously 
transmitted  to  the  phonographic  sheet  alwa3\s  set  in  readi- 
ness to  receive  it.  The  message  could  then  be  listened 
to,  much  as  we  read  a  letter.  The  unimpaired  e3'esight, 
as  well  as  the  extraordinary  fineness  of  ear,  I  found  uni- 
versally prevalent  among  these  people,  were  both  attribu- 
table, in  a  great  measure,  to  the  extent  to  which  the  ear 
had  superseded  and  lightened  the  labors  of  the  eye.  All 
correspondence,  and  much  the  greater  part  of  literary 
labor,  were  done  by  voice  and  ear.  The  finest  literature, 
moreover,  was  scarcely  ever  read  from  books.*  It  was 
committed  to  long  phonographic  sheets.  Placed  in  the 
instrument,  these  reproduced,  with  fit  utterance,  the  grand 
or  beautiful  thoughts  the  world  will  not  let  die,  in  the 


AN    UNFORESEEN   DISCOVERY.  331 

very  voice  and  accent  of  the  great  masters  of  vocal  ex- 
pression. The  effective  renderhig  of  the  finest  passages 
of  literature  had  become  a  branch  of  the  fine  arts.  To 
this,  those  possessing  the  requisite  natural  endowments 
devoted  themselves  with  an  ardor  commensurate  with 
the  reputation  to  be  acquired  by  a  noble  rendering  of  a 
well-known  passage,  a  fame  second  only,  and  sometimes 
not  second,  to  that  of  the  author  interpreted.  Such  a 
rendering  of  a  favorite  author  could,  according  to  the 
mood  of  the  hearer,  be  listened  to  reclining,  or  walking 
about  the  apartment,  or,  best  of  all,  while  engnged  in 
some  mechanical  employment  that  leaves  the  mind  free. 

At  the  next  station  I  was  not  disappointed  in  my  ex^ 
pectation.  A  cliuba  addressed  to  me  was  placed  on  the 
train.  Retired  to  the  appropriate  compartment,  I  drank 
in  with  greedy  ears  the  tones  that  reached  them  with  the 
cadence  of  sweetest  music.  Utis,  Ulmene,  and  lalma 
had  already  gone  to  Falo  that  afternoon.  Reva  and  her 
father  were  to  follow  next  morning. 

"Ere  this  time  to-morrow,  lalma  and  Olav  shall  have 
met,  and  —  we  too,"  was  added  in  a  soft  whisper,  that 
had  all  the  sweetness  of  a  kiss. 

By  this  time  to-morrow  !     Ah  me  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


THE    ESPOUSALS. 


Of  most  of  the  events  of  the  followiDg  forenoon  T  have 
but  an  uidistiuct  recollection.  In  company  with  Olav,  I 
made  several  calls  in  Falo,  during  which  I  might  have 
made  some  interesting  observations,  had  my  mind  not 
been  so  pre-occupied.  lalma  and  her  part}'  were  at  the 
home  of  her  uncle,  situated,  as  I  was  informed,  on  some 
part  of  what  is  now  called  Grand  Island. 

We  were  not  to  present  ourselves  there  before  the  mid- 
dle of  the  afternoon.  Notwithstanding  our  various  occu- 
pations, the  hours  seemed  to  me  to  pass  with  exasperating 
slowness.  As  for  Olav,  I  was  amazed  at  his  calm.  After 
a  year's  absence,  within  a  short  half-hour's  journey  of 
his  bride,  b}'  not  a  word  or  look  did  he  betray  impatience 
at  the  barriers  that  custom  placed  in  the  way  of  their 
immediate  meeting. 

I  well  knew,  however,  that  his  was  not  the  calm  of 
indifference.  During  our  brief  intercourse  in  Snlu,  I  had 
found  occasion  to  speak  of  lalma.  In  spite  of  his  habit- 
ual self-control,  Olav  could  not  conceal  the  pleasure 
caused  him  by  my  frankly  expressed,  almost  enthusiastic 
admiration  of  the  warm-hearted  girl,  so  beautiful,  yet  even 
332 


THE  ESPOUSALS.  333 

more  lovely  in  character  than  in  person.  An  unworthy 
jealousy  could  not  coexist  with  the  perfect  love  and  trust 
that  existed  between  these  two,  —  a  love  and  trust  the 
growth  of  years  of  intimate  mental  fellowship. 

At  last  the  hour  came.  On  one  of  those  electric  boats 
I  had  fii'st  seen  in  use  on  the  Hudson,  Olav  and  I  sped 
up  the  river  towards  Grand  Isle.  He  seemed  to  kuow 
the  exact  spot  to  which  to  steer.  There,  on  that  smooth 
lawn  extending  to  the  water's  edge,  is  a  group,  from 
among  whom  I  can  already  distinguish  one,  to  my  ej'cs, 
specially  graceful  form.  We  land.  lalma  and  Reva 
alone  came  down  to  meet  us.  Reva  seemed,  what  I  had 
deemed  impossible,  to  haA'e  grown  even  more  beautiful 
than  before.  The  scarcely  more  than  two  weeks  of  my 
absence  had  added  a  more  womanly  grace  to  her  girlish 
beauty.  Besides  some  other  slight  tokens  that  to  the  ex- 
perienced eye  proclaimed  the  zerua.,  she  now  wore  her 
beautiful  locks  permanentl}^  braided  in  the  style  that  once 
proved  so  distracting  to  vay  attention.  She  approached 
with  shy  confidence,  to  receive  the  salute  I  was  now 
privileged  to  give,  and  said,  as  pleased  she  read  the  ad- 
miration in  my  eyes,  — 

"  Do  3'ou  think  me  improved?  lalma  tells  me  so  every 
day."  Then,  in  response  to  my  earnest  affirmation  that 
I  had  not  thought  it  possible,  but  it  was  even  so,  — 

"  Ah !  you  do  not  know  how  it  pleases  me  to  be  able 
to  please  you  !  ' ' 

All  this  passed  as  we  followed  the  other  pair  toward 
the  group  awaiting  us  on  the  lawn.  In  thus  affording 
me  an  opportunity  of  expressing  the  admiration  I  evi- 
dently felt,  Reva  was  but  conforming  to  an  established 


33-4    THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,   A  FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

and  graceful  custom.  To  remark,  unasked,  upon  the  per- 
sonal appearance  of  any  of  the  fair  sex,  was  regarded 
as  a  breach  of  good  manners.  They  were,  however, 
privileged  to  ask  such  an  opinion,  on  occasion ;  and  their 
doing  so  was  justly  regarded  as  a  mark  of  peculiar  favor 
and  confidence.  Assured  of  their  position,  and  confident 
in  their  beauty,  they  did  not  fear  such  misconstruction  as 
their  less-favored  ancestresses  of  the  present. 

When  the  others  entered  the  house,  we  did  not  follow, — 
were,  in  all  probability,  not  expected  to  do  so.  Were 
not  the  minutes  of  this  unforeseen  break  in  our  separation 
few  and  precious?  We  took  several  turns  round  the  lawn, 
always  intending  to  enter  the  house  when  next  we  ap- 
proached it,  yet  always  calling  to  mind  some  important 
nothing,  the  saying  of  which  necessitated  still  another 
turn.  We  had  in  this  way  reached  the  foot  of  the  lawn 
for  the  third  time,  and  stood  a  moment  to  enjoy  the  cool- 
ing breeze  from  the  river. 

''It  must  be  pleasant  out  in  the  stream,"  said  Reva, 
regarding  somewhat  wistfully  the  boat  in  which  I  and 
Olav  had  come. 

"  If  you  are  not  sure  that  w&  may  go,"  suggested  I, 
"  wh}'  not  inquire?  " 

Away  hastened  Reva  without  further  discussion,  while 
I  remained  to  make  ready  the  boat.  A  slight  change  in 
her  attire,  and  the  bright-hued  afghans,  of  which  I  made 
haste  to  relieve  her  when  she  re-appeared  at  the  door, 
rendered  unnecessary  any  formal  announcement  of  the 
result  of  her  mission. 

"  Ulmene  saj's  we  have  ample  time  to  go  round  the 
island.  Her  last  injunctions  are,  not  to  take  cold,  and 
not  to  be  late  for  dinner." 


THE  ESPOUSALS.  335 

Seated  beside  me,  —  for  the  one  seat  in  the  boat  resem- 
bled that  of  a  curricle, — Reva  mapped  out  forme  the 
proceedings  of  the  evening  and  morning.  Shortly  after 
dinner  and  the  signing  of  tlie  civil  contract,  Olav  and  I 
should  return  to  Falo.  In  the  forenoon  of  the  following 
day  would  take  place,  in  Falo,  the  religious  ceremony 
that  should  give  the  final  sanction  to  the  union  of  the 
pair  so  long  united  in  heart  and  feeling.  Of  this  cere- 
mony, so  beautiful  and  impressive  as  described  to  me,  I 
reluctantly  refrain  from  giving  any  account,  adhering  to 
my  set  purpose  of  avoiding  those  topics  in  regard  to 
which,  the  more  earnest  the  interest,  the  wider  the  diver- 
gence of  belief  and  observance. 

Immediately  after  the  ceremony  tlie  newl}'  wedded  pair 
would  return  to  the  villa  on  Grand  Isle,  which  had  been 
placed  for  a  week  unreservedly  at  their  disposal.  Here 
they  could  enjoy  undisturbed  seclusion  till  they  saw  fit 
to  set  out  on  their  long  wedding  journey.  The  extent 
of  their  proposed  itinerary  almost  took  away  ni}'  breath. 
It  included  every  spot,  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe, 
visited  by  Olav  during  his  zerdarship.  But,  as  I  reflected, 
much  ground  could  be  passed  over  in  three  mouths,  with 
the  means  of  travel  at  their  disposal. 

If  either  indulged  in  any  day-dream  of  that  future 
happy  journey  awaiting  us  also,  nothing  was  said  on  the 
subject.  The  present  was  too  happy  for  our  thoughts  to 
wander  far  ahead.  Enveloped  in  the  blissful  conscious- 
ness of  each  other's  presence  and  S3Mnpathy,  surrounded 
by  beauty,  we  glide  swiftly  and  noiselessl}'  amid  scenes 
that  seem  taken  from  the  landscapes  of  a  glorified  Claude 
Lorraine.     The  rays  of  the  westering  August  sun  were 


336  THE   DIOTHAS;   OR,    A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

already  entangled  amid  the  tops  of  the  lofty  trees,  whose 
lengthened  shadows  they  cast,  now  upon  the  swift  cur- 
rent, now  on  the  smootli  lawns  that  extended  before  the 
ancient  mansions  thickly  scattered  along  the  banks  of 
the  stream.  Beautified  by  the  labors  of  the  many  genera- 
tions whose  homes  these  mansions  had  been,  Grand  Isle 
presented  a  scene  of  fairy-like  beauty,  far  unlike  the 
unkempt  ruggeduess  that  at  present  there  meets  the  trav- 
eller's eye. 

We  had  turned  the  southern  extremity  of  the  isle. 
"We  had  for  some  time  been  sitting  in  blissful  silence,  — 
the  silence  of  utter  content. 

'•'■  Ismar,"  said  Reva  at  last,  "  I  am  almost  afraid  of 
this  happiness.  It  seems  too  great  for  this  earth.  How 
could  we  be  more  happy?  where  could  we  see  scenes 
more  beautiful  than  these?  " 

I,  too,  had  to  acknowledge  a  similar  feeling,  one  of 
awed  wonder  as  it  were,  at  tlie  completeness  of  our  hap- 
piness. So  rare  are  the  gleams  of  perfect  sunshine  on 
the  pathway  of  life,  that  we  are  almost  afraid  to  enjoy 
the  unwonted  splendor ;  as  in  certain  climes  a  sunrise  of 
unsullied  brightness  is  regarded  as  the  sure  precursor 
of  a  stormy  day. 

This  passing  mood  may  have  been  partly  influenced  by 
the  increasing  volume  of  sound  that  betokened  our  ap- 
proach toward  the  grandest  spectacle  on  our  continent. 
A  change  of  wind,  indeed,  was  now  causing  the  muffled 
thunder  of  the  falls  to  reach  our  ears  in  one  continuous 
though  distant  roar,  fit  herald  of  our  passage  from  the 
beautiful  to  the  sublime. 

As  we  approached  the  northern  extremity  of  the  island, 


THE  ESPOUSALS.  337 

the  current  became  ever  swifter.  It  was,  accordingly, 
with  'some  relief,  tliat,  following  the  directions  conspicu- 
ously displayed  at  certain  places,  I  found  myself  in  com- 
parativelj'  still  water  near  the  apex  of  the  island.  Here 
a  broad  stairway  of  marble  led  up  to  a  spacious  colon- 
nade situated  in  the  northern  extremity  of  a  public  gar- 
den. This  spot  was,  especially  toward  sunset,  a  favorite 
resort  whence  to  view  the  splendid  effects  of  light  upon 
the  towering  masses  of  vapor  that  marked  the  spot  where 
the  mighty  river  plunged  into  the  abyss.  In  the  course 
of  restless  ages,  the  waters  had  hollowed  out  their  bed, 
till,  at  the  time  now  referred  to,  the  plunge  was  taken 
at  the  spot  where  the  river  takes  a  sudden  bend  from 
west  to  north.  This  circumstance  afforded  a  facility  now 
unknown  for  viewing  the  falls,  or  fall,  since  there  was 
no  longer  a  break  in  their  continuity.  From  the  western 
bank  the  spectator  could  see  the  whole  mass  of  waters 
precipitate  itself  in  one  mighty  concave  into  the  yawning 
gulf  before  his  feet. 

After  learning  the  bearings  and  distances,  I  was  some- 
what doubtful  of  our  ability  to  reach  this  spot  in  the  time 
at  our  disposal,  even  for  a  fugitive  glance.  The  look  of 
disappointment  in  Reva's  ej'es,  when  I  expressed  this 
opinion,  put  all  hesitation  to  flight ;  and  soon  we  were 
steering  for  the  western  shore. 

"  I  had  set  my  heart  greatl}'  on  standing  here  in  your 
company,"  said  Reva,  as  we  stood  together  before  the 
wondrous  spectacle,  to  her  altogether  new,  to  me,  some 
way,  strangely  familiar.  "This  will  be  a  moment  to 
think  of  during  the  long  interval  before  we  can  have  such 
another  day." 


338  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

"We  could  remain  but  a  few  minutes.  During  these, 
however,  Reva  found  opportunity  to  telephone  home  our 
whereabouts  in  case  we  should  be  late.  On  the  course  I 
was  now  obliged  to  adopt,  so  as  to  save  time,  the  rai)idly 
descending  sun  shone  full  in  our  faces.  It  was  probably 
for  that  reason  that  I  did  not  observe  what,  observed 
sooner,  might  yet  have  afforded  us  a  chance.  It  was 
Eeva  first  observed  it.  She  had  been  turning,  at  inter- 
vals, to  view  the  splendid  spectacle  behind  us  ;  while  I 
was  obliged  to  keep  my  eyes  ahead. 

"  Ismar,"  she  almost  whispered,  "is  the  current  too 
much  for  us  ?  We  seem  to  be  making  scarcely  any  head- 
way." 

At  this  time  we  were  perhaps  a  mile  north  of  Grand 
Isle.  Even  when  I  saw  for  myself  that  Reva's  observa- 
tion was  correct,  I  was  not  so  much  startled  as  surprised. 
The  current  must  be  indeed  strong  to  nearly  neutralize 
the  speed  of  a  boat  able  to  make  fifteen  miles  an  hour 
in  still  water.  Turning  out  of  this  current  would  cause 
some  slight  delay,  that  was  all. 

I  accordingly  slightly  altered  our  course,  and  was  now 
for  the  first  time  really  alarmed.  The  boat  seemed  to 
have  hardly  steerage-way.  Hastily  I  examined  the  gauge 
that  served  to  mdicate  the  amount  of  available  electric 
force  in  the  reservoir.  With  difficult}'  I  repressed  a  groan. 
The  gauge  indicated  almost  zero.  The  stored-up  energy 
had  been  dissipated  during  the  long  courses  made  by  the 
boat  that  da}-,  mostly  at  a  high  rate  of  speed.  One  more 
experienced  in  the  use  of  such  machines  would  have 
thought  of  this,  and  seen  to  the  reservoir  being  recharged. 
What  was  I  but  an  ignorant  savage,  was  my  bitter  reflec- 


THE   ESPOUSALS.  339 

tion,  unfit  to  be  trusted  with  the  appliances  of  a  superior 
civihzation  ? 

Reva,  too,  had  read  the  terrible  indication,  and  appre- 
hended its  full  signiticauce.  The  noble  girl  grew  pale, 
but  quailed  not.  Neither  spoke.  It  was  no  time  for 
words.  There  seemed  but  one  chance  left, —  to  turn  the 
boat,  and  trust  that  our  small  remnant  of  motive-power 
would  enable  us  to  keep  a  course  oblique  to  the  current, 
so  as  to  reach  the  shore  somewhere  above  the  falls. 

I  headed  for  the  eastern  shore,  as  the  nearer,  and  also 
because  I  had  noticed  that  the  current  on  the  eastern  side 
of  Grand  Isle  was  much  less  rapid  than  that  on  the 
western  side.  For  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  this  plan  would 
succeed.  We  reached  within  little  more  than  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  of  the  shore.  But  at  the  same  moment  our 
remnant  of  motive-power  became  exhausted  ;  and,  seized 
b}'  a  powerful  eddy,  we  were  swept  out  to  near  the  middle 
of  the  river,  this  time  more  than  a  mile  farther  down. 
We  were  now  utterly  helpless.  Even  the  power  of  steer- 
ing had  ceased  with  the  exhaustion  of  the  motive-power. 

I  looked  around  to  see  whence  aid  could  come,  and 
waved  a  scarf  at  the  end  of  a  rod.  Its  being  so  near 
the  dinner-hour,  made  it  a  bad  hour  of  the  day  for  us. 
Had  our  plight  been  perceived  in  time,  efficient  aid  might 
possibly  have  reached  us.  As  it  was,  I  saw  more  than 
one  boat  dart  forth,  in  eager  answer  to  my  signals  of  dis- 
tress. One  boat  especially,  boldly  and  skilfully  steered, 
was  headed  so  as  to  cut  our  course.  Beside  the  steerer 
sat  a  female  form,  with  garments  fluttering  in  the  wind 
caused  by  their  rapid  motion.  We  watched  them,  help- 
less to  further  their  efforts  even  by  changing  the  course 


340  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

of  our  boat.  I  did  what  I  could  by  trailing  one  of  the 
afgbans  over  the  stern. 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  all  of  no  use,"  said  Reva  calmly, 
after  attentively  watching  them  for  some  time.  "  They 
cannot  reach  us  before  we  pass  those  rocks." 

"And  then?"  said  I. 

"Then,  Ismar,  we  are  be3'ond  human  aid." 

We  sat  for  some  time  after  this  in  silence,  I  holding 
her  uuresistiug  hand  in  mine.  We  passed  the  fatal  rocks, 
beyond  which  the  waters  seemed  to  slope  with  a  frightful 
declivity  toward  the  abyss  beyond.  As  we  did  so,  the 
boat  that  had  come  so  daringly  to  our  rescue,  now  scarcely 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  turned  rapidly  in  its  course,  and 
none  too  soon.  The  steersman's  companion,  a  young  and 
beautiful  girl,  after  returning  Reva's  mute  gesture  of 
thanks  and  farewell,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and 
seemed  to  weep. 

Nor  was  she  our  onl}^  sympathizer.  All  around  we 
could  see  people  gathering  to  the  shores,  —  such  news 
spreads,  even  now,  with  wonderful  rapidity.  Some  stood 
in  silent  horror ;  some  covered  their  faces  with  their 
hands  ;  a  few,  with  upraised  hands,  seemed  to  implore 
the  mercy  of  Heaven.  All  this,  and  much  more,  I  took 
in  at  a  glance,  —  the  blue  and  almost  cloudless  sky ;  the 
green  woods  gently  waving  in  the  same  wind  that  rippled 
the  surface  of  the  water  under  the  rays  of  the  setting 
sun,  even  the  rainbow-tinted  vapor  that  overhung  the 
abyss,  and  was  now  viewed  by  us  from  where  none  had 
returned  to  tell  the  tale. 

"This,  then,  is  death,"  said  I,  after  we  had  passed 
the  rocks.     Oh,  with  what  regretful  yearning  did  I  gaze 


THE  ESPOUSALS.  341 

at  the  young  and  beautiful  life  beside  me !  how  bitterly 
did  I  feel  my  impotence  to  save  ! 

"  Yes,"  said  Reva,  seeming  to  read  my  thought.  ^'  But 
you  have  done  all  you  can."  Here  she  took  my  hand  in 
hers,  and  caressed  it  with  a  gesture  that  almost  unmanned 
me,  so  forcibly  did  it  remind  me  of  that  father  whose 
grief  I  dared  not  think  of.  "  One  heedless  request  of 
mine  has  brought  us  both  to  this.  Are  you  willing  to 
grant  me  one  more  ? ' ' 

"Can  you  doubt  it?"  was  my  almost  reproachful 
response.     "  But  what  now  lies  in  my  power  to  grant?  " 

"  You  can  give  me  the  privilege  to  call  3'ou  husband 
before  I  die." 

I  understood  at  once.  In  presence  of  a  great  danger 
to  one  or  both,  a  betrothed  pair  might,  in  this  way,  an- 
ticipate the  usual  date  for  their  union.  All  that  was 
necessary  was,  to  make  the  customary  change  of  rings, 
in  the  presence  of  witnesses.  Reva  rose,  and,  turning 
toward  the  nearer  shore,  made  gestures  as  if  changing 
her  ring.  Those  on  shore  showed  their  comprehension 
by  raising  their  right  hands  in  solemn  attestation. 

Pronouncing  the  customary  fbrmula,  I  changed  the 
ring  from  the  finger  where  I  had  so  lately  placed  it,  to 
that  where  its  presence  proclaimed  her  a  wedded  wife. 
She  performed  a  like  office  for  me.  At  this  moment  the 
sun  went  down,  and  ceased  to  illumine  with  a  mocking 
splendor  the  mists  that  rose  from  the  awful  gulf,  which 
we  were  now  nearing  with  a  frightful  velocity. 

"  Kiss  me,  my  dear  husband,"  she  said,  received  from 
my  lips  the  sacred  title  of  wife,  gave  me  one  more  look 
of    unutterable  love,  then   closed   her  eyes,  and  nestled 


342  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK  AHEAD. 

closely  to  my  side,  within  my  encircling  arm.  A  very 
slight  trembling  of  her  slender  frame,  a  somewhat  tight- 
ened -clasp  of  my  hand,  alone  gave  token  of  her  con- 
scionsness  of  our  swiftly  approaching  doom.  I  kept  my 
eyes  fixed  upon  her  face.  I  really  dared  no  longer  look 
before,  lest  I  might  see  the  horrible  abyss  just  beneath 
us.  I  saw  her  lips  move.  The  awful  thunders  that 
seemed  to  rush  to  meet  us  obliged  me  to  place  my  ear 
close  to  her  lips. 

''  God  is  good,"  were  the  words  I  faintly  distinguished. 
"We  shall  m " 

At  this  moment  the  boat  seemed  to  give  a  wild  leap 
into  the  air :  then  followed  a  horrible  sensation  of  falling 
from  a  great  height,  amid  a  deafening  roar,  as  of  a  uni- 
verse crashing  into  ruin  ;  then  oblivion. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE    LETTER. 

It  was  with  a  sort  of  confused  surprise,  that,  on  recov- 
ering the  consciousness  of  existence,  I  found  myself 
alive  at  all.  Instead,  too,  of  battling  for  life  amid  a 
chaos  of  whirling  waters,  I  found  myself  seated  in  a 
commodious  arm-chair,  in  a  dimly  lighted  apartment. 
With  difficulty  I  rallied  my  scattered  thoughts  so  far  as 
to  recognize  the  fact  that  I  was  in  my  own  room. 

An  equally  self-evident  fact  was,  that  some  one  had 
entered  the  room  since  I  had  fallen  asleep,  and  had 
remained,  too,  for  some  time.  The  flickering  wood-fire 
had  been  recently  replenished  with  fuel.  A  strong  scent 
of  fragrant  Havanas,  a  pile  of  white  ash  in  the  ash- 
receiver,  indicated  how  the  visitor,  whoever  he  was,  had 
passed  his  time.  My  eyes  next  lighted  upon  a  letter 
lying  beside  the  lamp,  and,  as  I  found,  addressed  to  my- 
self in  a  well-known  handwriting.  In  some  surprise  I 
tore  open  the  envelope,  my  wonder  increasing  as  I  read. 
It  ran  as  follows  :  — 

"My  dear , — As  you  are  fast  asleep,  and  seem  likely  to 

remain  so  during  the  time  I  can  remain  here,  I  must  needs  put 
into  writing  what  I  came  here  to  say.    I  was  at  your  door  punctual 

313 


344  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

to  the  time  mentioned  in  my  note.  Receiving  no  answer  to  my 
knocking,  I  supposed  you  were  out.  But  on  entering,  with  the 
intention  of  awaiting  your  return,  I  found  you  fast  asleep,  —  so 
fast  indeed,  that  I  had  not  the  heart  to  disturb  you.  I  was  in  tlie 
less  haste  to  do  so,  perhaps,  from  the  fact  that  what  I  had  to  say 
was  not  without  its  embarrassments. 

"  Wliile  I  sat  smolving,  and  patiently  awaiting  your  awakening, 
an  idea  occurred  to  me,  for  which  you  will  possibly  not  thank 
me.  You  remember  our  visit  to  Dr.  K 's,  and  our  long  discus- 
sion thereafter  anent  the  experiments  we  had  just  witnessed.  It 
was  your  idea,  remember,  that  the  scientific  possibilities  of  mes- 
merism were  still  undeveloped,  chiefly  owing  to  the  difficulty  of 
inducing  suitable  subjects  to  submit  to  experiment  under  proper 
conditions.  My  contention  was,  that  we  can  exjiect  from  a  bottle 
only  what  was  put  into  it.  You  replied,  that  not  only  was  my 
argument  utterly  refuted  by  the  facts,  even  as  regards  the  con- 
tents of  a  bottle,  but  that  also  no  just  comparison  can  be  insti- 
tuted between  the  inert  passivity  of  such  a  recipient  and  the 
wonderful  combining  power,  the  almost  creative  energy,  of  the 
human  brain. 

"Lo,  here  lay  before  me  the  proper  subject!  and  that,  too, 
under  apparently  the  most  favorable  conditions,  as  laid  down  by 
yourself.  For  obvious  reasons,  I  could  not  first  seek  your  consent 
to  the  projected  experiment;  since  thus  one  of  the  most  important 
conditions  would  at  once  be  spoiled.  If  I  have  been  too  hasty  in 
taking  your  assent  for  granted,  I  hereby  give  you  full  permission 
to  try  the  like  experiment  on  myself,  should  opportunity  present 
itself.     Fiat  experimentum,  etc. 

"  Thus  far,  all  has  suoceeded  admirably.  I  had  only  to  give 
your  thoughts  the  desired  direction,  having  purposely  chosen  a 
subject  on  which  you  are  prone  to  speculate.  From  what  I  have 
been  able  to  extract  from  you,  —  though  I  refrain  from  much 
questioning,  as  it  seems  in  some  way  to  disturb  you,  —  you  appear 
to  be  passing  through  strange  experiences,  of  which  I  claim,  and 
hope  some  day  to  receive,  a  full  and  particular  recital.  If  what 
you  are  passing  through  seemed  to  cause  you  any  distress,  I  would 
at  once  put  an  end  to  the  experiment.     But,  as  the  contrary 


THE   LETTER.  345 

appears  to  be  the  case,  I  will  allow  the  experiment  to  run  to  its 
natural  conclusion,  —  the  more  so  since  thus  you  will  retain  a 
perfect  recollection  of  every  incident  in  your  novel  experience. 

"Now  to  business.  What  brought  me  here  was  not,  as  you, 
no  doubt,  hoped,  to  aimouuce  your  definite  acceptance  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Weissnichtvvohin  expedition.  ^It  was  rather  for  the 
purpose  of  affording  you  what  I  expect  will  prove  an  irresistible 
reason  for  staying  at  home.  I  came,  in  fact,  to  set  in  action  a 
counter-attraction  that  will,  I  have  little  doubt,  far  outweigh  all 
the  fascinations  of  even  troglodytic  archaeology. 

"  You  are  perhaps  not  aware  —  indeed,  I  am  pretty  certain  that 
you  are  not  —  that  I,  too,  have  the  privilege  of  being  numbered 
among  the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Edith  Alston.  Yes,  even  that 
same  Miss  Alston  in  regard  to  whom  I  have  heard  so  much  within 
these  few  days  past.  Why  I  now,  for  the  first  time,  inform  you 
of  the  fact,  was  originally  a  matter  of  pure  accident,  — you  hap- 
pened to  mention  the  name  first:  then  intervened  other  reasons 
you  will  presently  be  in  a  position  to  appreciate. 

"In  the  last  letter  I  addressed  to  you  in  Rome.  I  alluded,  half 
in  jest,  to  a  possible  change  in  my  condition  in  the  near  future. 
My  uncle,  as  you  know,  has  been  to  me  like  a  father.  There 
exists  between  us  a  genuine  liking,  in  spite  of  considerable  diver- 
gence in  our  views  of  life.  On  my  return  from  what  he  was 
pleased  to  call  my  '  last  wild-goose  chase,'  he  earnestly  remon- 
strated with  me  on  what  he  termed  my  waste  of  life's  opportuni- 
ties. If  I  would  only  settle  down,  he  would  provide  handsomely 
the  means  of  doing  so.  He  had,  in  fact,  already  looked  out  a 
wife  for  me. 

"  'A  splendid  girl!'  said  he,  with  an  enthusiasm  in  him  quite 
unusual.  '  Had  I  met  with  such  a  one  in  my  time,  Ute,  I  should 
now  have,  probably,  other  foolish  young  people  to  worry  about 
besides  a  scientific  nephew.' 

"  The  dear  old  boy  had  actually  been  so  attentive  to  the 
'splendid  girl'  at  Newport  and  Saratoga,  as  to  give  rise  to  a 
foolish  rumor,  that  seems  to  have  reached  your  eai'S  almost  as 
soon  as  you  landed.  Well,  to  please  my  uncle,  I  sought  the 
acquaintance  of  Miss  Alston,  but  presently  found  myself  only  too 
anxious  to  improve  that  acquaintance  in  order  to  please  myself. 


346  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A   FAR  LOOK   AHEAD. 

"I  had  heard  nothing  of  your  engagement,  etc.  I  was  far 
away  at  the  time,  beyond  the  reach  of  letters  or  rumors.  When 
the  name  that  since  has  come  to  represent  to  my  thouglits  all  that 
is  lovely  and  noble  was  first  uttered  in  my  hearing,  it  awoke  in 
me  no  associations  of  any  kind.  But  such  were  not  long  in  being 
formed.  My  uncle  was  surprised  as  well  as  gratified  by  the  sud- 
denness with  which  I  developed  a  'practical  interest  in  life,'  as 
he  called  it. 

"For  Edith  Alston's  sake  there  is  nothing  I  could  not  have 
resolved  to  do  or  become:  there  is  no  drudgery,  however  distaste- 
ful, to  which  I  would  not  have  submitted.  At  her  behest  I  would 
have  waded  into  the  slough  of  New-York  politics,  — yea,  have  con- 
sented  to   herd  with  aldermen,  like  our  quixotic  friend   II . 

Faugh!  To  keep  pigs  from  the  garden  may  be  an  occuj)ation 
useful  aiul  even  necessary,  but  can  hardly  be  either  agreeable  or 
elevating.  Better  have  the  garden  fenced,  or  the  pigs  abolished, 
my  earnest  friend.  Yet,  at  her  behest,  I,  too,  might  have  joined 
you  in  your  bootless  and  thankless  task. 

"Much  has  been  said  and  written  about  'the  ennobling  influ- 
ence of  woman.'  The  per  contra  of  that  claim  might  afford  an 
interesting  subject  for  speculation.  Could  we  but  read  the  inner 
history  of  many  a  stunted  life,  how  many  an  aspiring  soul 
would  we  find  has  been  compelled  to  forsake  the  path  of  the 
gods,  the  pursuit  of  truth  for  its  own  sake,  lured  from  that  path 
by  the  iynis  fotuiis  of  a  pair  of  bright  eyes,  thenceforth  to  be 
weighed  down  to  earth  by  petty  cares!  A  woman's  Influence,  in 
fact,  is  as  the  woman  is.  Yet  there  are  wiseacres  would  debar 
her  from  all  share  in  man's  higher  intellectual  activities.  O 
fools  and  blind,  not  to  see  that  woman's  share  in  moulding  the 
destinies  of  mankind  has  increased,  is  increasing,  will  increase, 
till  she  attain  the  perfect  equality  that  is  her  due! 

"Noble  as  is  her  character,  I  almost  tremble  to  think  how 
great  influence,  for  good  or  evil,  one  woman  could  have  exercised 
upon  me  had  she  but  so  willed.  Not  that  I  can  for  a  moment 
imagine  an  influence  consciously  exercised  by  her  for  evil.  The 
influences  I  feared  were  those  with  which  I  should  necessarily 
surrouncV  myself  by  acceding  to  my  uncle's  desire  that  I  should 


THE  LETTER. 


347 


re-enter  the  career  I  formerly  abandoned  in  disgust.  I  have  been 
trying  to  persuade  myself  of  late,  and  had  almost  succeeded  in 
so  doing,  that  I  could  walk  firmly  on  the  slippery  path  where  so 
many  have  stumbled  before  me;  that  I  need  never  descend  — like 

H and  F to  become,  for  pay,  the   accomp^ce   after  the 

fact  of  the  cowardly  assassin,  the  hired  tool  and  ally  of  the  thief 
or  swindler,  bribed  by  a  share  of  the  plunder. 

"You  see,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am  now  trying  to  persuade  myself 
that  what  has  happened  is  all  for  the  best.  In  the  presence  of 
unattainable  grapes,  how  apt  we  are  to  seek  comfort  in  the  assur- 
ance that  they  would  most  assuredly  have  proved  unwholesome! 
You  may  imagine  how  sore  I  feel  when  I  write  such  stuff  as  this. 
The  tumble,  though  not  unforeseen,  is  none  the  less  severe.  I 
still  feel  somewhat  stunned,  and  inclined  to  talk  incoherently. 
Yet  I  do  not  regret  this  new  experience.  It  is  worth  some  suffer- 
ing to  have  known  a  really  noble  woman.  It  has  revealed  to  me 
a  previously  unsuspected  world  of  possibilities  and  ideals.  I 
shall  get  over  this  in  time.  Other  fellows  have ;  and  so,  no  doubt, 
shall  I,  though  at  present  it  seems  impossible,  —  nay,  scarcely 
desirable.  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  suppose  that  there  are  not 
others  similar,  at  least,  to  Edith  Alston.  I  have  to  thank  her 
for  opening  my  eyes  to  that  divine  possibility.  Perhaps,  when  I 
return  cured,  I  may,  by  diligent  search  -    But  enough  of  this. 

"When,  a  few  days  ago,  you  mentioned  to  me,  for  the  first 
time  Miss  Alston's  name,  and  made  me  a  confidant  of  your 
troubles,  you  little  suspected  how  closely  the  matter  concerned 
your  auditor.  Had  you  not  been  so  completely  absorbed  in  the 
contemplation  of  your  own  griefs,  you  could  hardly  have  failed 
to, remark  the  disturbance,  or,  rather,  consternation,  awakened  in 
me  by  what  I  so  unexpectedly  heard. 

"After  you  left,  I  tried  to  face  the  situation  squarely.  Could 
I  or  ought  I,  to  withdraw  without  a  struggle  ?  No :  I  was  too  far 
gone  for  that.  Besides,  was  it  not  possible  that  —  The  possibility 
su^-^ested  was  sweet  indeed,  but  soon  grew  faint  in  the  cool  light 
of  "s()ber  reflection.  The  Edith  Alston  known  to  me  was  not  the 
one  to  plight  her  troth  without  giving  her  heart,  nor,  having  given 
it,  readily  to  forget.  It  was  due.  however,  both  to  myself  and  to 
her,  that  I  should  know  this  for  certain. 


348  THE   DIOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

"  Her  temporary  absence  from  the  city  till  to-day  put  it  out  of 
my  power  to  briiio;  the  matter  at  once  to  a  decision.  What  I 
suffered  during  this  period  of  suspense  makes  my  present  condi- 
tion tolerable  by  comparison.  It  is  but  a  few  hours  since  I 
obtained  th^desired  interview,  and  received  the  answer  I  had 
come  to  regard  as  almost  certain.  Though  gently  and  courteously 
expressed,  1  felt  that  from  that  decision  there  was  no  appeal.  I 
came  away  admiring  more  than  ever,  but  convinced  that  what 
1  so  ardently  longed  for,  her  love,  cannot  be  mine.  Yours  it  is 
still,  1  lirmly  believe.  Why  I  believe  so,  I  cannot  say.  There  are 
beliefs  that  are  not  the  less  strong  because  resting  on  evidence 
rather  felt  than  perceived. 

"You  are  sleeping  soundly  and  peacefully,  so  I  will  not  dis- 
turb you  to  say  good-by.  Besides,  have  I  not  said  all  I  have  to 
say, — perhaps  more?  I  cannot  rem^ain  longer,  since  this  very 
evening  I  must  leave  to  join  the  other  members  of  the  expedition 

at  N .     You  need  not  write  till  you  hear  of  the  safe  arrival  of 

the  party  at  Weissnichtwo.  Don't  be  shy  about  sending  cards. 
By  that  time  my  cure  will  be  fairly  begun  —  I  may  as  well 
begin  it  now.  I  leave  you  here  a  sprig  of  eglantine,  of  which  I 
managed  surreptitiously  to  possess  myself  to-day.  I  need  not  say 
for  whose  sake  I  would  fain  have  retained  it.  I  leave  it  for  you, 
with  my  best  wishes.  It  is  not  easy  to  do,  but  it  is  best  so.  Vive 
et  vale.  U.  E." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

CONCLUSION. 

There  remains  little  more  to  tell.  The  sprig  of  eglan- 
tine proved  of  good  omen  on  this  occasion  also.  I  went, 
made  due  acknowledgment  of  my  fault,  was  met  half- 
way by  the  dearest  and  noblest  of  girls.  Our  present 
happiness  is  but  enhanced  by  the  remembrance  of  that 
period  of  estrangement  and  separation,  which  really 
taught  us  how  deeply  and  truly  we  prized  what  seemed 
irrevocably  lost.  Before  news  can  reach  us  from  IVeiss- 
nichtwo,  I  hope  to  have  in  readiness,  for  instant  de- 
spatch, the  cards  to  which  my  friend  alluded,  to  announce 
what  will  then  be  an  event  in  the  past.  Nor  will  this 
formal  announcement  be  all.  Edith  has  promised  to 
write.  We  often  speak  of  him.  She  acknowledges  the 
high  esteem  in  which  she  held  him. 

"  I  almost  regretted,"  said  she  playfully,  "  that  I  had 
no  heart  to  give  him.  But  that,  you  know,  was  long 
since  bestowed  elsewhere." 

On  one  subject,  however,  I  have  not  yet  ventured  to 
open  my  mind.  "Warned  ])y  my  experience  with  Reva,  I 
am  shy  of  awaking  the  jealousy  that  seems  latent  in  the 
most  perfect  of  the  sex.     Yet  how  often  does  some  word 

34y 


350         THE  DIOTHAS;   OR,   A  FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

or  gesture  of  hers  recall,  with  all  the  vividness  of  actu- 
ality, a  tender  memory  of  that  fair  vision,  of  whom  1  feel 
the  more  disinclined  to  make  mention  as  yet,  from  the 
fact  that  I  am  even  now  not  quite  able  to  convince 
myself  of  her  non-existence !  The  events  and  person- 
ages of  that  strange  experience  have  still  for  me  a  reality 
not  surpassed  by  that  of  this  actual  existence.  At  times, 
indeed,  I  find  myself  inclined  to  doubt  whether  this  is 
not  the  phantasmal  and  that  the  real,  wondering  whether 
I  may  not  awake  to  find  mj'self  lying  in  the  swinging 
cot  in  the  house  of  Utis,  looking  toward  the  strangely 
divided  dial  above  the  door,  to  mark  the  hour,  and  think, 
with  a  thrill  of  inward  joy,  that,  ere  the  hand  had  ad- 
vanced over  three  of  those  spaces,  I  should  again  be 
basking  in  the  sunshine  of  a  certain  presence,  once  more 
have  heard  the  pleasant  morning  greeting  uttered  by  a 
certain  voice. 

At  times,  too,  there  recurs  to  me,  with  somewhat  bewil- 
dering eflfect,  vague  reminiscences  of  a  peculiar  transcen- 
dental philosophy,  of  which  Hulmar  had  afforded  me 
occasional  glimpses.  Though,  at  the  time,  the  main  effect 
of  what  I  heard  of  this  speculation  was  to  produce  in 
me  a  feeling  of  vertigo,  I  now  greatly  regret  the  slight 
interest  I  then  took  in  what  would  now  prove  so  interest- 
ing. What  material  it  would  afford  for  a  lecture  before 
that  summer  gathering  of  deep  and  earnest  thinkers,  who 
seek  relaxation  from  graver  pursuits  in  a  graceful  toying 
with  such  airy  themes  as  Tlie  Tldnkuhleness  of  the  Un- 
tJiinJcable!  Even  as  it  is,  might  not  my  sul)ject  prove  as 
attractive  in  its  way  as  Reva's  thistle?  The  idea  smiles 
upon  me,  and  perhaps  —    But  I  must  first  find  what 


CONCLUSION.  351 

Edith  wift  &ay.  Has  not  the  wisdom  of  the  ages  settled 
that  a  man  can  become  great  or  famous  only  by  his  wife's 
permission  ? 

According  to  the  view  of  things  above  adverted  to, 
the  different  stages  in  the  history  of  our  race  are  not 
successive  only,  but  are  also  co-existent  and  co-extensive 
with  each  other.  Just  as  in  a  given  block  of  marble, 
there  is  contained,  not  one  only,  but  every  possible 
statue,  though,  of  the  whole  number,  only  one  at  a  time 
can  be  made  evident  to  our  senses  ;  so,  in  a  given  region 
of  space,  any  number  of  worlds  can  co-exist,  each  with 
its  own  population  conscious  of  only  that  world,  or  set 
of  phenomena,  to  which  their  ego  is  attuned.  Impene- 
trability, resistance,  etc.,  are  thus  but  relative  properties, 
effective  only  among  the  correlated  set  of  phenomena 
that  constitutes  a  given  world.  As  the  sound-waves  from 
an  orchestra  freely  intersect,  and  yet  retain  their  integ- 
rity ;  so  the  phenomena  of  these  various  co-existent 
worlds  occupy  the  same  space  without  interference,  — 
without,  indeed,  the  dAvellers  in  the  one  so  much  as  sus- 
pecting the  presence  around  them  of  beings  conversant 
with  infinitely  diversified  systems  of  phenomena. 

I  should  not  like  Edith,  without  due  preliminary  ex- 
planation, to  become  aware  of  the  strange  imaginings 
that  pass  at  times  through  my  mind,  even  when  happy 
by  her  side.  This  is  especially  the  case  when  I  listen  to 
certain  music  of  hers,  —  music  to  which  I  was  always 
highly  susceptible,  and  which  now  sounds  like  a  re-echo 
of  the  divine  harmonies  once  heard  in  the  house  of  litis. 
Is  it  not  possible,  I  sometimes  muse,  that  that  wild 
plunge  over  the  edge  of  the  cataract  was,  after  all,  a 


352  THE   DIOTIIAS;    OR,    A   FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

reality?  May  not,  at  this  raomeut,  the  story  of  Reva 
and  Ismar, — of  Reva  the  beautiful,  the  gifted,  whose 
songs  with  their  strange  archaic  melodies  had  hi  one 
short  mouth  reached  the  ears  of  a  listening  world,  —  of 
Ismar,  so  strangely  familiar  with  the  ways  and  lore  of  a 
long-forgotten  past,  —  may  not  their  stor}'  be  the  theme 
of  sympathizing  comment  in  the  communings  of  many  a 
loving  pair,  — have  already  taken  its  place  as  an  item  in 
the  stock  of  romantic  incident  that  forms,  in  every  age, 
the  favorite  theme  of  poetry  and  art  ?  While  we  are  thus 
mourned,  perhaps  sung,  in  that  world  whence  we  so 
suddenly  passed,  may  it  not  be  that  our  spirits,  for  some 
fault  or  imperfection  that  rendered  us  unfit  for  the  com- 
panionship of  the  comparatively  pure  spirits  inhabiting 
that  world, — may  they  not,  I  would  think,  have  been 
relegated  to  this  earlier  and  barbarous  period,  hence  again 
to  struggle  upward  to  a  higher  plane? 

So  strong  a  hold  have  these  fancies  taken  upon  me, 
that  at  times  I  feel  seriously  alarmed,  and  heartily  wish 
my  friend  had  not  taken  me  for  the  subject  of  his  experi- 
ment. It  is  not  only  the  confusing  effect  produced  by 
the  intercalation  into  my  consciousness  of  a  whole  series 
of  scenes  and  events,  so  lifelike  as  with  difficult}'  to  be 
distinguished  from  reality.  By  a  sort  of  spiritual  "  trans- 
fusion of  blood"  I  find  myself  permeated,  as  it  were, 

with  many  of  those  peculiar  notions  of  E 's  which  I 

used  most  vigorously  to  combat.  I  can  imagine  the  smile 
with  which,  in  his  distant  exile,  he  will  read  of  the  march 
he  stole  on  me  when,  in  my  helpless  sleep,  he  inoculated 
me  with  his  social  and  political  heresies,  which  I  must  get 
rid  of  as  soon  as  p()s.sil)lc  if  I  am  to  pursue  my  profes- 
sion with  any  comfort  or  succcsss. 


CONCLUSION.  353 

Even  during  his  college  career,  E was  regarded  as 

somewhat  crotchety,  though  uudeniably  brilliant.  lUit, 
during  his  two-years'  stay  at  a  German  university,  he 
found  time  to  take  on  board  a  whole  cargo  of  new 
crotchets.  He  did  not  return  an  admirer  of  the  rococo 
in  art  or  government,  a  disciple  of  the  dyspeptic  phi- 
losophy, or  imbued  with  the  conviction  that  the  highest 
aim  of  man  is  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  uses  of 
the  Latin  dative.  What  he  had  seen  of  the  workings  of 
paternal  government  had  but  confirmed  his  sturdy  repub- 
licanism. He  returned,  moreover,  thoroughly  imbued 
with  this  one  conviction,  that  whatever  position  the 
American  people  is  destined  to  take  in  the  history  of 
literature,  art,  or  science,  its  immediate  mission  is  to 
demonstrate  to  mankind  the  splendid  possibilities  of 
popular  institutions.  The  nations  of  the  Old  World, 
handicapped  by  their  burden  of  hoary  prejudices  and 
abuses,  reasonably  look  to  us  to  lead  the  way  in  the  path 
so  courageously  entered  upon  about  a  century  ago. 
Placed  thus  in  the  van  of  progress,  on  a  path  made 
smooth  for  us  by  the  courage  and  devotion  of  others, 
ours  will  be  the  shame  if  we  fail  to  rise  to  the  occasion. 

All  this  is  reasonable  enough.  His  strangest  crotchet 
is,  the  strong  hostility  he  has  conceived  against  the  legal 
profession.  Yet  he  had  prepared  himself  for  that  pro- 
fession by  an  unusually  thorough  course  of  training. 
Soon  after  his  return  he  entered,  as  junior  partner,  the 
well-known  legal  firm  of  Star  &  Dash.  Within  a  few 
months,  however,  he  suddenly  withdrew.  What  the 
occasion  was,  he  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  explain,  even 
to  me.  Star,  the  senior  partner,  with  whom  I  have  some 
acquaintance,  said,  when  referring  to  the  matter, — 


354         THE  DTOTHAS;   OR,   A   FAR  LOOK  AHEAD. 

"  I  can't,  of  course,  explain  the  matter  more  precisely 
just  now.  The  case,  in  regard  to  which  our  little  differ- 
ence of  opinion  arose,  is  still  for  trial.  His  objection, 
you  will  find,  was  utterly  absurd.  If  all  were  to  stick 
at  such  trifles,  the  profession  would" —  Here  the  old 
gentleman  shook -his  head,  and  seemed  lost  in  contem- 
plation of  the  unwonted  mental  vista  thus  suggested. 

"E has  some  means   of    his   own,  hasn't   he?" 

resumed  the  old  lawyer  after  a  pause. 

"He  has, — not  a  large  fortune,"  replied  I,  "but 
ampl}^  sufficient  for  his  wants." 

"  Ah,  there's  the  rub!  "  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman 
in  a  tone  of  vexation.  "If  you  could  only  persuade 
him  to  invest  that  monc}'  in  some  wild-cat  mine,  or  get 
him  engaged  to  a  Fifth-Avenue  belle,  you  would  really 
be  doing  him  a  friendly  turn." 

"  How  so?  "  said  I. 

"  "Why,  then,  of  course,  he  would  be  obliged  to  give  up 
those  high-strung  notions  that  now  render  him  unavaila- 
ble for  the  profession.  If  either  of  these  things  happen 
to  him,  let  me  know.  I  am  speaking  seriously.  I  shall 
be  glad  to  have  him  back,  and  will  let  him  pick  his  cases. 
Now,  don't  forget." 

E ,  however,  did  not  accept  the  olive-branch  thus 

extended.  It  was,  indeed,  during  the  conversation  in 
this  connection,  that  he  fairly  startled  me  by  the  energy 
with  which  he  unbosomed  himself  of  the  long-pent-up 
bitterness  he  had  nursed  for  some  time  past. 

"It  is  no  rashly  adopted  notion,"  said  he.  "For 
months  past  it  has  been  more  and  more  borne  in  on  me, 
that,  in  its  present  developments,  the  legal  profession  is 


CONCLUSION.  -355 

the  pest  of  our  social  system,  the  chief  danger  to  our 
institutions.  Is  it  not  a  fact  tliat  we  are  the  most  lawyer- 
ridden  community  on  the  face  of  the  earth?  When  our 
fathers,  carefully  shutting  the  door  on  kingcraft  and 
priestcraft,  made  law  supreme,  was  it  their  intention 
that  this  should  mean  the  supremacy  of  petty  quibblers 
and  unscrupulous  shysters? 

"While  denouncing  the  faults  of  a  class,"  he  con- 
tinued, "you  must  not  suppose  that  1  arraign  every 
individual  of  that  class.  For,  leaving  ourselves  out  of 
the  question,  can  I  forget  that  Lincoln  and  Garfield  were 
lawyers  and  politicians  as  well  as  Charles  Guiteau  and 
Starrut  Blatherskyte.  We  have  a  right,  however,  to 
judge  a  class,  not  by  the  practice  of  the  exceptional  few, 
but  by  the  standard  of  ethics  avowed  and  acted  upon  by 
the  many. 

"  The  dangerous  element  in  our  midst  may  be  roughly 
classified  as  follows  :  First  and  most  numerous,  though 
not  most  dangerous,  are  the  predatory  classes  proper, 
from  the  tramp,  just  hovering  on  the  verge  of  crime,  to 
the  millionuaire  swindler,  able  to  repay  with  four-figure 
checks  the  advice  that  enables  him  to  rob  with  impunity. 
Next  come  lawyers,  the  efficient  allies  of  the  preceding 
class,  which,  without  their  aid,  would  cease  to  exist,  or 
would  become,  at  least,  greatly  diminished  in  numbers. 
As  the  feudal  tyrant  jealously  protected  the  game,  to  him 
both  a  pleasure  and  a  profit,  though  a  destructive  nui- 
sance to  the  luckless  husbandman  ;  so  the  legal  fraternity 
watchfully  guard  the  interests  of  the  class  with  whose 
existence  their  own  is  so  closely  involved.  Last  come 
the  professional  poUticians,  a  liybrid  class  that  combines. 


356  THE   DIOTUAS;     OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

in  varying  proportions,  the  characteristics  of  both  the 
foregoing  classes. 

"  Of  all  these,  the  lawyer  class  is  Ity  far  the  most 
pernicious.  As  a  class  the}'  foster  crime  and  fraud,  both 
by  their  active  opposition  to  the  enactment  of  effectually 
deterrent  laws,  but  chiefly  by  holding  out  the  prospect 
of  almost  certain  escape  through  the  wide  meshes  of 
such  inadequate  laws  as  do  exist.  They  swarm  in  our 
legislatures,  where  their  influence  on  law-making  is  purely 
mischievous.  To  them  we  owe  that  wonderful  style  of 
oratory  known  as  'congressional,'  that  unique  combina- 
tion of  inflated  verbiage  with  appeals  to  the  lowest  con- 
siderations of  self-interest  and  prejudice.  While  they 
might  have  as  audience  the  most  numerous  and  most 
generally  intelligent  people  ever  addressed  by  an  orator, 
most  of  them  seem  unable  to  rise  above  the  impression 
that  they  are  still  haranguing  the  twelve  prize-imbeciles  of 
the  neighborhood,  assembled  in  the  district  court-house. 

"In  no  other  country  has  the  judiciary  been  intrusted 
with  such  important  functions  as  in  this,  in  none  has  the 
legal  profession  been  so  sure  an  avenue  to  distinction  ; 
yet  in  none  are  the  laws  so  clumsily  constructed,  in  none 
are  the}'  so  feebly  enforced.  Are  not  our  courts  a  by- 
word throughout  Christendom?  Is  there  any  country  in 
Europe,  Turkey  perhaps  excepted,  where  life  and  prop- 
erty are  so  feebly  protected  by  the  law  as  among  us? 
Has  it  not  come  to  this,  that  the  foulest  and  most 
cowardly  assassin  feels  confident  of  impunity,  provided 
he  is  able  to  retain  the  services  of  one  of  those  convenient 
accessories  after  the  fact,  who  hire  themselves  out,  not 
to  commit  murder  indeed,   but  to  further  the  assassin's 


CONCLUSION.  357 

escape,  —  a  safer  as  well  as  more  lucrative  business  than 
that  of  the  hired  bravo,  and,  at  the  same  time,  —  as 
posterity  will  read  with  wondering  incredulity,  —  perfectly 
respectable?  .  .  .  Mark  my  words:  if  society  continues 
thus  to  shirk  one  of  its  most  imperative  duties,  individ- 
uals will  re-assert  the  dormant  right  of  blood-revenge ; 
the  time  will  come  when  the  male  relatives  of  the 
murdered  will  live  in  disgrace  as  long  as  the  assassin 
breathes." 

As  my  friend  uttered  these  words,  his  eyes  flashed 
indignant  fire  ;  and  I  well  knew  that  he  was  thinking  of  a 
specially  atrocious  miscarriage  of  justice  that  had  re- 
cently occurred.  There  was,  of  course,  no  use  in  tirgu- 
ing  with  him  while  in  such  a  mood.     I  said  merely,  — 

"  My  dear  fellow,  your  liver  must  be  in  a  terrible  con- 
dition.    You  must  realh"  take  something." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  returned  lie  with  a  laugh,  "  it  is  I 
•  have  made  you  take  something ;  and  it  has  done  me  an 
immense  deal  of  good." 

Such  is  the  eccentric  friend  whose  happiness  Edith  and 
I  are  plotting.  From  some  words  that  fell  from  her  the 
other  day,  I  know   she  is  planning  which  of  her  uncle 

S 's  pretty  daughters  is  to  be  the  future  Mrs.  E . 

Who  knows?  It  seems  to  me  quite  possible,  that  the  yet 
unsuspecting  Mabel,  Edith's  prettiest  cousin,  and  resem- 
bling her  in  many  ways,  is  destined  to  become  mj-  friend's 
wife,  and  the  mother  of  that  Estai  who,  as  I  read  in  the 
great  library  at  Salu,  is  to  become  my  son-in-law  in  the 
year  of  grace  1910. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  I  am  sufficiently  happy  in  the  present 
to  be  willing  to  let  the  future  take  care  of  itself.     For  it 


858  THE    DfOTHAS;    OR,    A    FAR   LOOK   AHEAD. 

must  not  be  imagined,  that  my  occasional  indulgence  in 
such  fanciful  speculations  as  those  before  mentioned 
arises  from  any  useless  repining  after  that  more  perfect 
existence  of  which  I  caught  some  glimi)ses.  Is  not  the 
Edith-Reva  of  the  present  what  the  Reva-Edith  of  that 
existence  would  have  been,  —  the  sum  and  centre  of  my 
hopes  and  wishes? 

Some  predictions  tend  to  bring  about  their  own  fulfil- 
ment. On  my  assurance  that  the  request  had  an  ade- 
quate reason,  afterwards  to  be  explained,  Edith  consented 
to  change  the  date  first  mentioned  to  one  slightly  earlier,  — 
the  same,  indeed,  I  had  seen  in  that  time-stained  chronicle 
in  the  library  at  Salu.  The  appearance  of  this  little  story 
may  be  accepted  as  a  certain  sign  that  the  event  whose 
announcement  I  then  read  with  such  mingled  emotions 
has  actually  taken  place.  For,  in  her  hands,  soon  after 
we  start  on  our  journey,  I  intend  to  place  the  first  com- 
pleted cop}'  of  the  story  in  which  her  name  so  frequeutly 
recurs.  She,  if  possible,  shall  be  the  first  to  read  the 
tale  as  one  of  the  reading  public.  "We  shall  visit  together 
the  site  of  that  gently  slopiug  lawn,  on  the  shores  of 
Grand  Isle,  where  I  caught  my  last  glimpse  of  Olav, 
Hulmar,  and  litis,  of  lalma  and  Ulmene.  Together  we 
shall  stand  on  the  spot  whence,  as  the  sun  went  down, 
the  awe-stricken  multitude  witnessed  the  strange  espous- 
als of  the  fated  pair,  as  thoy  rushed  to  their  doom  over 
the  verge  of  the  mist-covered  abyss. 


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